My Siren
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Sequel to Frustration following the events of the POTC films, Lord Beckett is pursuing the crew of the Black Pearl, searching specifically for one person- and its not Jack. But will Elizabeth be able to hide her secret from him, when they meet again?
1. Chapter 1

My Siren

_It's the sequel, guys! The story is going to be told in a series of oneshots, and sorry for any boring film dialogue, but it's kinda necessary since the story is following the films quite closely. Anyway please R&R, hope you like it, and long live Beckabeth!_

* * *

Elizabeth Swann stumbled through the streets of Port Royal, her limbs lethargic and heavy. And by God, did she know why. The memories of her encounter with the manipulative Lord Beckett flooded her mind, despite her determination to block them out.

His lips invading her mouth, his tongue flicking hers, his hands on her body, inside her body…

_Stop it!_ She shouted to herself.

She looked back at the EITC offices, imagining him awaking alone, his bed devoid of her presence. For one moment her heart tugged her back, back to his warm bed, but she squared her shoulders and strode on, away from the EITC offices. She shut out the clamouring screams of her body, demanding her return to him, but in the end, they had wrapped up their 'deal'. He would probably just hand her over to his agents, if he woke up to discover her still beside him. God, he was so odious! She stalked into the shadows, searching the docks for any drunken sailors who would relinquish their clothing.

* * *

Beckett awoke groggily, before snapping back to full awareness. The bed beside him was empty, devoid of Elizabeth Swann. He smirked, and swung out of bed, swiping his discarded clothes off the floor. He threw them onto a chair, and picked fresh clothing from his armoire. Dressed and shaven, he strode through to the main office area.

He noted wryly that the Letters of Marque were gone. He chuckled, as he wandered onto the balcony, to lean on the railing. His cold eyes surveyed the bustling scene below, randomly searching out a golden-haired head, a lovely face.

Searching a haystack of humanity for a beautiful needle.

He suddenly straightened, as the sun peeked over the horizon and he spotted a very familiar head striding towards the docks. He watched the lone figure stop, then visibly rally and marched off, chin in the air. He smirked; he would know that figure anywhere after last night.

He had spent half the night worshipping it.

He felt a presence behind him, and partially turned his head to find Mercer waiting behind, a silent shadow.

"Well?" he asked impatiently, playing the charade for a little longer.

"Not a sign, sir," Mercer reported, a perturbed look in his dead eyes. He had been looking for the Swann girl the whole night, and the exhaustion showed in his annoyed tone. Beckett smirked, mentally replying_ that would be because she was in my bed half the night. _But he didn't tell him that.

"She broke into the offices and stole the letters of marque," he told Mercer bluntly. "I have a feeling she will be heading to Tortuga. Follow her there, observe her movements, and report back to me,"

"Aye sir," Mercer bowed obsequiously, a pleased smirk on his weather-beaten face.

"And have Governor Swann thrown into the lockup, at least until we have information on his daughter. That ought to weaken his obstinacy," Beckett finished, waving his aide away. Mercer bowed once more and left. He leant back over the railing, searching for that elusive flash of gold, but she had disappeared. He smiled, the smile of a predator scenting his prey.

_Enjoy your freedom while you may, Elizabeth. I'm coming for you, soon…_


	2. Chapter 2

My Siren

_Set in AWE, in the confrontation scene between Will and Elizabeth, after they rescue Jack from Davy's Jones locker. No flamers just because I use film dialogue please!_

* * *

_The Black Pearl_

Elizabeth sat in the hold, staring dazedly at the hull wall, her heart sinking. They had just rescued Jack Sparrow from Davy Jones' Locker, and Elizabeth had been feeling unwell, so had run down into the hold for some peace, and to escape the intense stares of Will. Their relationship had never been the same, not since they were reunited at _Isla Cruces_. There was a lack of trust, a lack of passion now. And in her heart, she knew why. She had changed irrevocably. And another change was coming to destabilize their lives even more.

There was no getting around it now. This was the second time she had missed her monthly courses; and the morning vomiting had only gotten worse. She was pregnant, or at least she believed so. Her mind still optimistically denied it; her belly wasn't swollen, her courses could just be erratic and as for the vomiting, well she was on a vermin infested, unhygienic pirate ship for God's sake. She splayed her hand over her abdomen anyway, feeling for any movement.

_Don't be so stupid, Elizabeth, there wouldn't be any movement yet_, she thought caustically. Her mind turned to the father, there was no doubt who it would be.

Cutler Beckett, lord of the East India Trading Company. Oh God, how could she tell Will, and how could she conceal it? She thanked her lucky stars that she was not yet showing, but for how long? And the pressing issue of the East India Trading Company's tyranny of the seas still had to be addressed. She couldn't do that whilst pregnant, could she? She hung her head in her hands, despair melting her strength. She was with child, an occasion of joy, and the father was her mortal enemy; a ruthless, arrogant, domineering tyrant who had pursued her and the crew of the _Black Pearl_ for weeks. Piracy was being stamped out in the world of the living, entire crews and ships annihilated by the _Flying Dutchman_, with Beckett not far behind.

And he was getting closer, like a bloodhound on a trail. If he found out about the child…..

* * *

"Elizabeth?" Will's voice ripped through the fog of her consciousness, driving her thoughts into the dark cavern of her mind. She looked up at her onetime fiancé, tall and ruggedly handsome. But he no longer stirred her soul; that power now resided with another. What does he want now? She thought irritably. She was far too busy thinking about her prospective pregnancy. "You left Jack to the Kraken," he continued bluntly. Her heart went out to him, melting her coldness. She could tell he was angry and disappointed in her, but she had done what she had needed to do. _"Doing what we need to survive…." _

Beckett's words rang in her head, but she blocked them out. She had made up for it; risked everything to come and rescue Jack. And they had succeeded, and now she could erase the guilt from her heart, move on whether Jack forgave her or not. But Will wasn't about to let go. Their argument went back and forth, revelations popping from nowhere.

"You thought I loved him?" she said, aghast. Seeing the truth in Will's eyes, she scrambled up and tried to slide around him. He turned her and swung her into the wall. _It's not Jack I love…._

"If you make your choices alone, how can I trust you?" he asked her in an achingly painful whisper, his dark gaze intense. She flinched and pushed him away.

"You can't," she replied as she climbed into the open air, leaving Will in the stuffy air of the hold. He could never truly trust her now, for her heart belonged to the enemy.

* * *

That night, beneath the starless sky, Elizabeth sat at the bow, looking into the pitch horizon, tears silently dripping down her cheeks. She had just seen her own father, all but alive; drift past in a longboat, on his way to the world of the dead.

Beckett had murdered him; Elizabeth knew it with all her soul. The father of her child had murdered its grandfather.

She caressed the skin of her stomach, misery clogging her lungs. Will had tried to comfort her, but she was inconsolable, preferring to be alone with her grief. What was worse, she was sure Tia Dalma knew about her pregnancy. The mystic had carefully examined her, after one of her vomiting fits, and given Elizabeth one of her inscrutable looks. Now all she needed was for the others to find out her secret, and before she knew it, Beckett would know about it also.

"Lizzy?"

At the call, she turned her head to find Jack settling down to sit beside her, cross-legged with a bottle of rum. "You alrig' Lizzy?" he asked, unfamiliar concern flooding his eyes. Elizabeth turned away, determined not to let him see her secret. "Somethin' you be a-wanting to tell me, Elizabeth?" he continued relentlessly. She turned back to him, eyes wide. He knew! Jack smirked, saluting her with the bottle.

"Looks like that persuasion wasn't so unfriendly after all," he muttered. Elizabeth knew he was referring to her comment from several weeks ago.

"Jack…."

"Don' worry, Elizabeth. Your secret's safe with me, darlin'," he interrupted her, his eyes wide and innocent. Elizabeth glared back at him, disbelieving.

"Thank you, Jack," she said quietly. If he told anyone, she'd shoot him.

* * *

_The Endeavour, the world of the living_

Cutler Beckett sat at his desk, taking his evening tea. The sky was a velvety purple, infused with the darkest sapphire blue. As the breeze filtered into the large cabin, he sighed and exhaled gratefully. Nights like these invariably reminded him of that night, so many weeks ago, when Elizabeth Swann had broken into his office and they had…

He smiled at the memories as he sipped his tea, stretching luxuriantly in the large admiral's chair. He had been searching for her for weeks, her managing to elude him, but now he had her cornered. When she, and the crew of the _Black Pearl_, emerged from Davy Jones' Locker, they would be waiting for them. And he would take back what was his.

"Sir? Sao Feng 'as arrived as arranged," Mercer's bark came from the door. Beckett looked up from his daydream and set his cup down, smiling in a satisfied manner. All was going very well.


	3. Chapter 3

My Siren

* * *

_The Black Pearl_

Elizabeth emerged from the hold of the _Pearl_, after her morning bout of vomiting, to discover a bunch of leering, filthy pirates awaiting her. Weaponless, she got a punch in when one went to restrain her, splitting his lip in two, whilst another got her knuckles in his eye.

"Restrain her!" cam an accented voice from within the group, and Elizabeth whirled around to discover the _Empress_ floating off the bow, and as she engaged two more pirates in hand-to-hand, she noticed their dragon tattoos. They were Sao Feng's men. But why would he betray them, and who to? Elizabeth's heart sank, as she surrendered to Sao Feng and glimpsed a ship on the horizon.

The _Endeavour_ majestically rounded the curve of the island, at which they had stopped to resupply the ship, after their jaunt in Davy Jones' Locker. Beckett had found her! She felt her heart simultaneously leap and sink, as she was chained, and held with the others, Gibbs giving her a reassuring smile as she joined them. She composed her face into a stony expression, revealing nothing of her emotions. Will suddenly rushed up from the hold, demanding loudly that she be set free, as Jack and Barbossa made it back to the ship, instantly surrendering to Sao Feng.

They knew they were beaten.

Jack cowered behind Barbossa when he came face to face with Sao Feng. Elizabeth barely took in any of what was said. She didn't even hear the revelation that Will had set them up, or the deal Sao Feng had made with Beckett. She just couldn't take her eyes off the ship floating sedately off the starboard bow. But it was only as Sao Feng's last words penetrated her skull, along with Mercer's arrival, that she broke from her trance.

"I'm sorry, Jack, but there is an old friend who wants to see you first," Sao Feng snarled. Mercer stepped onboard, cold inhuman eyes raking the chained crew of the _Pearl_. As Jack was clapped in irons, and dragged away by marines, complaining loudly, Sao Feng took her arm. Mercer stopped him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"The girl goes with Sparrow. Beckett wants her too," he explained. Sao Feng's eyes narrowed, impotent rage flashing over his face, but he could do nothing. He was now outnumbered twenty to one, by the East India Trading Company.

He released Elizabeth, and Mercer grabbed her arm, holding her in a death grip as he manhandled her onto the longboat with Jack. She exchanged one last, confused glance with Will as they began to row towards the _Endeavour_. To meet her former lover, and now mortal enemy, for the first time in two months. Elizabeth felt a shiver ripple down her spine.

* * *

_The Endeavour_

Beckett sat in his admiral's chair, watching amusedly as the longboat inched its way towards his ship. A small crew of marines held two people captive. His smile grew into a satisfied smirk when he recognised Jack Sparrow, in chains. His eyes grew stormy, as he sighted Elizabeth, her long golden hair streaming in the breeze like a pirate pennant. His siren, in his clutches at last. After so many weeks of pursuit, he was looking forward to their first encounter since that night in the EITC offices. But first to deal with Sparrow.

Jack was hauled into the main cabin, as Elizabeth was left on the main deck, chained between two marines, bayonets trained on her mercilessly. She swayed slightly, a little fatigued, her strength lessening by the second. She always knew her first encounter with Beckett would be difficult, but she had never imagined being kept waiting.

She was surprised by her own impatience to see him. The bastard had killed her father, and she was perturbed he hadn't had her dragged in with Jack as well? She wasn't even aware of an urge to have a weapon ready, so she could avenge her father.

No, all she wanted was to see the father of her unborn child. And try to hide the truth from those all-seeing, omnipotent eyes….

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the captain's cabin….._

Jack was attempting to negotiate with Beckett, pacing back and forth, his arms waving flamboyantly. Beckett had to admit he had missed Jack's over-the-top nuances and mannerisms. There was something vaguely amusing about them.

"You can keep Barbossa. The belligerent homunculus and his friend with the wooden eye, both. And Turner, especially Turner," Jack finished listing all those he wanted to give to Beckett, eyes alight with devilish ingenuity. "The rest go with me aboard the _Pearl_, and I'll lead you to Shipwreck Cove, where I will hand you the pirates, and you will not hand me to Jones,"

Beckett noticed the absence of one particular name, one he was interested to hear Jack's plans for, in regards to his own.

"And what becomes of Miss Swann?" he asked silkily, nonchalantly leaning back in his chair, twirling a piece of eight between his fingers.

Jack leaned forward on the desk, thinking quickly how to get Elizabeth out of this mess. Sure, he could use the information later perhaps, but right now, Elizabeth needed to be as far away from Beckett as possible. At least until Jack revealed her secret to him. It might get him to back off, if he thought the mother of his child was fighting with the Brethren. But then again he didn't know how far Beckett's feelings for Elizabeth went. Or Elizabeth's, for that matter. His dreadlocks swung with the movement of the ship as he narrowed his eyes, and asked in reply

"What interest is she to you?"

He heard Beckett's small chuckle, his momentary quirk of the lips, his eyes unreadable. But Jack couldn't see past those impenetrable barriers, couldn't fathom his thinking.

* * *

_Outside…._

Elizabeth leant against the cabin door, one lip between her teeth, as she tried to eavesdrop on Jack and Beckett's conversation. Now doubt Jack would have a nefarious plot up his sleeve, one riddled with double-dealing, cunning and lots of reckless chance. But what did Beckett have in store for her? She was still being guarded by the two marines, she was on an EITC ship, and she had no way of escaping back to the _Pearl_.

But then, the cabin door burst open, and Jack was marched out by two other marines, and down into the brig. He gave her a warning look as he passed, eyes boring into hers. She fidgeted with the shackles around her wrists, the cold metal grazing her flesh.

But she soon forgot about pain, as she was shoved headfirst through the doors, the marines slamming them shut behind her. She stood upright, the chains around her limbs almost pulling her down again, dragging against her waning strength.

"Miss Swann," the quiet murmur came from ahead of her, a pair of polished black boots coming into view, as a familiar hand curved around her arm, helping her to stand upright. Her eyes met his, and she drowned in them. She couldn't even take in the lush paragon of wealth that was her surroundings, so entranced was she. She was dimly aware of a click as the shackles fell from around her wrists, and the tax on her strength was lifted. But another tax was already rattling her chains, but this time, it was the chains of her soul.

"Lord Beckett," she replied, her voice a weak gasp, lost as she was in those blue eyes. His hand brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, and her eyelids lowered, memories of another time, when he had stroked her hair flooded her mind. She shut them out, twisting from his grip, rallying her pride.

_He may be the father of my child; but he's still a murdering bastard_, she told herself. Hundreds had died, indirectly, at his hands, her father included. She couldn't let her personal feelings get in the way of business. She backed away from him, keeping her eyes fixed on him.

She had no idea what was being planned behind those powerful, stormy blue eyes but it wouldn't be anything good. She turned away from him, away from those searching eyes, staring out to sea, out at the _Pearl _and the _Empress_, two queens of the sea floating side by side.

* * *

She heard Beckett sigh behind her, as he moved closer. She shifted sideways, as far from him as she could go, without making it too obvious. The warm tremors had already started, after just a few moments.

"Well, Miss Swann you have been a nuisance. As elusive as a serpent. I almost despaired of ever catching you," he drawled.

"I aim to please," she interjected sarcastically, keeping an eye on his movements in the window panes.

"But it seems your friends are quite desperate, Elizabeth. And so despair leads to betrayal," he continued, his voice pronouncing her name with that same nuance of sensuality, bringing memories thundering back.

Elizabeth fought to hide her shudder, but lost the battle, when Beckett reached out a hand, and trailed his fingers down the loose hair on her back. He revelled in the silkiness of it, still soft to the touch after weeks spent at sea, the desire to touch more than just her hair rising within him. She spun around, outrage flaring at his presumption, his arrogant face and impudent stare enthusing her with fresh rage.

He had the insolence to look her in the eye, after what he did to her father, and casually run his fingers down her back? She quashed the feeling of pleasure welling at her core, as she looked him in the eye, determined to avoid being intimidated, or taken for a fool. Both specialities of his, if she remembered correctly. But there was no sign of arrogant superiority in his face, or of calculation. His eyes screamed desire, as his hands went around her upper arms, as unbreakable as shackles, and hauled her against him.

Stunned, this was certainly not what she had expected from him, she gazed into his eyes, caught by her own desire; and her gaze dropped to his lips. He didn't hesitate; taking her mouth in a storm of passion and possessive aggression. Her hands curled into fists on his silky lapels, as he backed her against the wall, one hand releasing her as it slid into her hair. She found herself returning the kiss, all her wildness coming to the fore, pressing it upon him for aggression, repressed lust for passion. Her hunger flared anew, as she pressed herself to him, her skin achingly aware of the latent power in the body against hers.

Hands which had pleasured her so well before now hungrily rediscovered her curves, sliding beneath the loose shirt and tunic she wore. She gasped to feel his cold hands on her skin, the signet ring he always wore pinching her flesh. A detached part of her was glad she was not showing her pregnancy yet, so there was little risk of discovery that way.

She was barely two months gone.

So there was nothing to hold her back, nothing to cloud her desire as he tore her away from the wall, and lifted her onto his desk, scattering the model ships, tin soldiers and maps littering the mahogany surface. Elizabeth felt cold metal beneath her hands, as she leant back on them to steady herself, momentarily glancing behind to find nine pieces of eight beneath her palms. What was Beckett doing with nine pieces of eight? Could he possibly know about the Brethren court, and the nine pieces of eight that held the sea goddess in thrall? But her panic was drowned, as his lips fastened on her neck, moving down achingly slowly, until he reached the hollow at the base of her throat.

She moaned, leaning her head back, inviting his kisses. He bestowed them liberally, eagerly taking advantage of her quiescence to devour her body, hands clutching the muscles of her thighs, the sleek limbs tense. His lips remained on hers, teasing her tongue with his own, as he pulled her upright, crushing their torsos together. He broke from her warm mouth with a strangled gasp, eyes searching her face. He loved how helpless she was with him, how weak her resistance was despite her will. She was his, body and soul. When he heard her gasp of loss; her siren's song, he smirked at her. Her lovely, shrewish doe eyes narrowed as she desperately tried to catch her breath, her breasts pressing against his black coat. Without warning, he pushed her back, to lie across the desk. She gasped as he bent over her, his weight holding her to the mess-filled surface.

She watched him, uncertain, as he stroked down her body, signet ring grazing a path down her torso, as she arched in wanton abandon. Any possibility for thinking about Will had truly been eradicated this time, their collective hunger too powerful to tolerate interruptions. He looked down at her gloatingly, watching the desire in those chocolate eyes fracture, their depths crystallizing in the dim light from the cabin windows. He smirked as he took a ragged breath.

"How long did you really think you could run, Elizabeth?" he asked her hoarsely, fingers now stroking down her cheek to her lip. She shivered, tongue darting out to moisten them.

"Forever and ever, if I have to Beckett," she answered archly.

"And I'll just keep finding you, again, and again and again," he whispered, kissing his way down her neck, punctuating his words with hot open-mouthed caresses. "Why keep fighting? The Brethren know they face extinction, they betray each other, and cower in ratholes, desperate to avoid their own destruction. You cannot hope to win,"

"You killed my father," she said in reply, eyes flashing, daring him to deny it. To her surprise he didn't.

"He chose his own fate," Beckett told her, eyes staring intimidatingly down into hers, lips inches from her. As he swooped in for another kiss, she bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing blood. He broke away, pulling her upright, breathing harshly.

He touched his lip, staring with vague disinterest at the blood on his fingertips. He finally looked back at her, hand clenching in her hair, pulling her head back at a painful angle. "Your father chose his own fate, and now you will choose yours, my Elizabeth. You gave yourself to me, willingly, and don't even try to pretend it was a completely dispassionate act. We both know it wasn't. Your only chance of survival rests with me, Elizabeth," he finished solemnly, before he kissed her, groaning slightly from his stinging lip.

She returned it for a second, contemplating all he had said. Her anger over her father's death still remained, would always remain. But what he had said, was some of it true?

"Why did you bring me here, Beckett?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.

"I've been searching for you every second since that night. You're mine, Elizabeth," he said firmly, holding her close to him. She could feel his desire for her pressed against her abdomen.

"I will never be yours, Beckett," she told him, with an equally firm, yet teasing smile. Beckett merely glared at her, frustrated by her resistance.

"Your body begs to differ, my dear," he whispered, before taking her lips once more. The surest way to break down her staunch resistance would be to bind her to him with passion, fuel her desire with his.

* * *

He could feel it, in her ardent responses, in the body arching within his arms, urging him into the sweet haven of her body. Her bond with Turner was also lessened. He had heard that it had been by her doing that Jack was left to the Kraken, and Davy Jones' Locker. Such a delicious, cunning mind! But his thoughts dispersed like mist, as she sank against him, legs locking around his hips, drawing him closer.

* * *

He upped the pace of the kiss, their tongues duelling with abandon, edging them closer to fulfilment. Until a massive explosion had them break apart, both glancing, wide-eyed, towards the door.

"Stay here," he ordered her, releasing her from his arms as he rushed into the corridor. Elizabeth stared after him, aghast.

" 'Stay here'? Not bloody likely!" she muttered, racing out of the cabin, and on her way to freedom.

Emerging onto the ravaged deck, she spotted Beckett on the steps, unflinching as wood splintered around him, talking to the distant figure of Jack Sparrow. Looking around desperately, she searched for a way off the ship, without Beckett catching her. She spotted a hanging mast line, hanging from the sails of the _Pearl_, and she grabbed it. She took a deep breath, judging the gap of open water, before taking a running jump and launching herself into empty space. She landed athletically on the deck of the _Pearl_, as she pulled away.

* * *

_The Black Pearl_

"Elizabeth, come on. You're wanted on the _Empress_," Gibbs grabbed her and pulled her towards where Sao Feng and his men awaited, still fighting off the EITC marines and Mercer.

"What?" she shouted above the noise of cannon fire. Gibbs didn't say anything just propelled her into Sao Feng's waiting arms.

"You're the trade, Calypso. You for the _Pearl_," Barbossa said, stepping up, slightly ashen and bloodstained. He winked at her, as she was dragged away. She spotted Jack, who gave her a reassuring wink and a thumbs-up. She took a deep breath and walked regally onto the vessel, every inch the goddess. She would see them all in Shipwreck Cove.

* * *

_The Endeavour_

Beckett stared at the devastation around him, shaking his head. Trust Jack Sparrow to destroy any vessel he set foot upon. He had noticed Elizabeth's escape during the chaos, and had only sighed. He knew she was onboard the _Empress_, so he signalled the _Dutchman _tofollow. She would be back with him soon enough, and they could continue their wearing down of her resistance to him. He smirked, remembering the pressure of her lips on his, her wanton passion stirring in his arms.

"Sir?" he turned to discover one of his lieutenants awaiting orders.

"Begin repairs, work through the night. I want this ship ready to pursue as soon as possible," he barked, disappearing into his cabin.


	4. Chapter 4

My Siren

_Ok, chapter 4 up and running. Basic summary: Elizabeth is now five months pregnant, and has just come out of the Brethren Court after being proclaimed the Pirate King, and goes to see Tia Dalma. She confesses her feelings about Beckett to her, and Tia Dalma offers her a way to get to him, but she must return before dawn, to lead the pirate army. But can Elizabeth evade temptation, when she once again lies in her lover's arms? Will Beckett discover the truth, when he is on the verge of destroying piratekind, including Elizabeth, forever?_

_Please R&R!_

* * *

_Shipwreck City_

Elizabeth strode down the cluttered hallways of the city, constructed from the rotting hulls of wrecked ships, with the surcoat of her Singaporean clothes flapping around her legs. Hence the name, she thought wryly. She nonchalantly flipped her long golden tresses from her face, fingers absentmindedly fingering the leather cord, upon which her piece of eight hung.

Her mind flew back several weeks, to her brief half hour aboard the _Endeavour_ and the events which occurred. Or had nearly occurred, anyway, if they hadn't been so rudely interrupted by a certain devilishly ingenious, annoyingly charming pirate captain hell-bent on escape. Ever since that moment, when she had paused before grabbing her freedom, she had been conscious of a powerful yearning, clogging her reason. That yearning still existed; but was dwarfed by a nebulous disappointment, one which had plagued her mind ever since landing on the _Pearl_.

Her feelings grew ever more ambivalent towards a certain arrogant, ruthless Lord Beckett. On the one hand, she wanted to kill him for all the suffering he had brought upon her and so many innocents; but on the other hand she was constantly fighting an urge to simply defect and run into his embrace, abandoning her comrades. But the thought disgusted her; she, Elizabeth Swann, was not about to suddenly turn tail and run off with a murdering aristocrat merely because he was right about the pirates' chances of survival.

* * *

Elizabeth stepped into her chambers gratefully, closing and locking the door securely. She was not so naïve that she trusted pirates when fully _compos mentis_, yet alone when intoxicated with rum. She surveyed the derelict, rundown room she had been allocated, the high ceiling pockmarked with gunpowder marks and the odd barnacle. It reminded her eerily of the brig aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. She shivered, her eyes closing, remembering her encounter with Will's father, and her subsequent escape. And the loss involved with that escape….

Grief filled her momentarily, before she exhaustedly collapsed onto the small and hard bed in the corner by the door.

"Owwww," she groaned, feeling the presence of something hard beneath the scratchy blankets. She rummaged beneath them, finally extracting a rotting piece of hardtack and someone's abandoned pistol, completely useless.

She gritted her teeth, throwing the offending articles across the room in an uncharacteristic bout of temper. It wasn't really like her, but then again she was pregnant; mood swings were to be expected. But the frustration she was feeling, the restlessness and the utter dissatisfaction were grating on her soul.

And there was no one to confide in, no one to grant her surcease.

_Even if Will had been here_, she thought sadly, _I would not want him. I yearn for another_.

Her hand snaked beneath her clothes, casually undoing the stiff leather surcoat and belt, throwing her sword to the floor. She caressed the only partially swollen skin of her abdomen, amazingly, though she was entering her second trimester, she was not showing. Maybe it had something to do with her slender frame, she mused.

She had heard that some women did not show their pregnancies until the last few months. And for that she could only be grateful, else she would have been discovered long ago. My little one, she mentally sighed, her eyes closing, her heart heaving in maternal bliss, making her forget her frustration for a moment. She sank into slumber…..

* * *

_She was back in the EITC offices, back beneath Beckett's torturing hands as he caressed the swollen flesh of her breast. She felt the old yearning rise, the need to feel his lips on hers, his body absorbed into hers once more. His lips found hers, and she pressed them desperately, arching wildly. _

_Until she felt him wrenched away from her, as she opened her eyes confusedly, to the sound of cannon fire and screaming._

* * *

Elizabeth awoke, sweating and clammy, her heart beating a tattoo on the inside of her ribcage, as she tried to gain control of her emotions. Tomorrow the fate of pirates everywhere would be decided, and Elizabeth was all too well aware that she risked death, not just for herself, but for her unborn child in her participation. But she could not simply stand by and watch her people slaughtered.

_That is what Beckett will never understand_, she thought bitterly.

They were her people; she could no more stand by and watch them die than put the noose around her unborn baby's neck herself. She jumped up from the bed, swiping her sword from the floor, redoing the fastenings of her garments. She began to pace, trying to appease the throbbing desire left over from the dream, but it did her no good. The only way it would be released would be if Beckett suddenly popped out of the woodwork. But that was certainly impossible. Her brows creased amusedly at the thought. She really needed someone to talk to, but Jack would be by now completely drunk, and would most likely try to press some unwanted advances upon her or blurt out her secret to the whole of pirate kind.

There was no one she could trust, no one else who knew, except…..

Elizabeth's eyes lit up at the thought. Tia Dalma!

And she knew just where to find her.

* * *

_The Black Pearl_

Tia Dalma sat in the brig, gazing deep into the flame of her solitary candle. But her silent reverie was interrupted as she heard running footsteps on the ladder. She stood, a curious expression upon her face. A figure descended; and Tia Dalma prepared to meet it with an expression of disdain. But as the figure stepped into the light, she recognized the slender form of Elizabeth Swann.

Hiding her surprise, she watched guardedly as Elizabeth hesitantly approached the bars. She, at least showed some respect to the bound sea goddess, and for that Tia Dalma rather liked her. She was a complex character indeed.

"Elizabeth Swann, what ye be doin' down 'ere at dis time o' night?" she asked in her throaty chuckle. Elizabeth came fully into the light, and she could see all the confusion, frustration and passion in this young woman's soul. So her love for the East India Trading Company lord deepens, whilst her resistance to it also deepens; yet within it all lies the pain of her secret child, secret from its father and her colleagues, Tia Dalma mused, her unearthly eyes glowing with interest.

"I…I needed someone to talk to," Elizabeth stammered, her tone a little sheepish. Tia Dalma waited patiently, intrigued enough to listen.

"I feel so conflicted, Tia Dalma. On the one hand I am preparing to fight my mortal enemy, all the while pregnant, whilst on the other I love a man I shouldn't, I love a man who would gladly tear my world to pieces. Yet I cannot bear to imagine my life without him," she said brokenly. Tears filled her eyes, and she brushed them away angrily.

"We canna help who we love, but know dis: to love tis to live. But we canna fight it, we mus' not fight it, else it destroy us, as it destroyed Davy Jones. Him tried to fight his love, tried to rip him 'eart out to avoid it, and it made 'im a monster," Tia Dalma advised fervently, surprised by her own passion. "Does 'e feel de same way?" she asked gently, probingly.

"I don't know," Elizabeth answered, "I guess I will never know, for by this time tomorrow either he or I will be dead,"

"If that tis your fate," Tia Dalma nodded sagely, "But I 'ave a gift for ye, if you wish,"

"What?" Elizabeth asked, completely perplexed.

"Go to 'im, tonigh'. See if him feelins' be as true as yer own," she elaborated, her eyes glowing mystically.

"But how?" Elizabeth replied, her mind overcome with a sudden longing. She wanted to see Beckett, see if his feelings matched her own. A plan was already forming in her mind; if he was just toying with her, or felt nothing but lust well she would kill him on the spot, if however he loved her as she loved him then….

"Go Elizabeth, see yer lover. Search 'is 'eart but be careful. You mus' not let 'im discover your child," Tia Dalma warned her. "As to how, I can 'elp wit dat," her hand advanced through the bars of the brig cell, and waved towards the opposite wall, Tia Dalma chanting quietly under her breath. Her fingers weaved through complex motions and gestures, as to Elizabeth's amazement, the wall seemed to bulge and become distorted. At last it snapped back into shape, as if it were still an ordinary wall.

"Now go. But ye mus' be back afore dawn. Dat is all I ask," Tia Dalma instructed her. She would need Elizabeth's piece of eight to be released from her human form.

"But how?"

"Jus' walk through de wall, and ye will emerge on de _Endeavour_. Now go, quickly!" Tia Dalma made shooing motions with her hands. But Elizabeth still paused, unsure.

"But what of the baby? Will any harm come to it if…." She trailed off, embarrassed. Tia Dalma motioned her back to her, stretching her dark hands out through the bars. Elizabeth felt an inexplicable urge to run from those grasping, unearthly hands, hands which had brought Barbossa back from the dead. But she approached warily, allowing Tia Dalma to place her hands on her abdomen.

"No, ye be safe. But ye must be careful; de baby may begin to kick," Tia Dalma said dryly, feeling a sudden pulse beneath her hands. Elizabeth sighed, relieved before she squared her shoulders and walked determinedly towards the wall. She paused, still slightly disbelieving, until she stretched out a hand and it fell right through the wooden hull. She looked back at Tia Dalma, suddenly fearful.

"Do no' question dis! It is obeah, none o' yer concern!" Tia Dalma snapped angrily, pointedly shooing her forward. Elizabeth looked back at the wall, her arm now sunk to the elbow as she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stepped through.

* * *

_The Endeavour_

Lord Cutler Beckett sat at his desk, tiredly wiping the sleep from his eyes. He leant his bewigged head back against the back of his chair, sighing irritably. Turner and Jones had just left, as well as Groves and Greitzer to prepare for the attack tomorrow.

They were less than half a day's journey from Shipwreck Cove, and his heart beat faster at the prospect of his quest, to rid the world of pirates, finally being over. With the _Dutchman _at the head of his massive fleet, they were nigh invincible, were it not for the issue of this _Calypso_.

Jones's former lover, his lips quirked cynically at the thought.

_Talking of that which vexes all men_, he thought, his mind turning to the issue of another dangerous, powerful woman who had been unnerving him. Elizabeth Swann. At the sound of her name in his head, shivers tingled down his spine. He snorted wryly at the images his mind conjured up so readily.

* * *

_Elizabeth holding a cocked pistol to his head, eyes glittering with triumph….._

_Her hesitant lips, that teasing tongue flicking against his own, drawn into a seductive duel….._

_Her soft body pressed into the crimson rug beside the hearth, her glorious hair gleaming gold in the soft, flickering firelight…_

_The way her hair sprawled over the white covers of his bed, as he moved within her, rocking her head back against the pillows, rippling the soft waves…..._

_Those torturing hands that had gripped his arms, and explored him as he had shoved her down onto the hard surface of his desk, eyes glittering with unadulterated passion… _

_Those bewitching eyes, that seemed to glow with emotion, whether with passion or anger or hurt or betrayal, it did not matter. Eyes like liquid silk, as dark and as mysterious as the rest of her….._

* * *

He snapped out of his reverie at the sudden sharp creaking in one of his cabin walls.

He stood, hand effortlessly drawing his small pistol from its hidden pocket, ready and waiting. But really, was he getting jumpy merely because of a few creaking planks? He sniffed in disgust, and turned away. Maybe it was because he was tired; he would need rest to be fit for the parlay which would, no doubt, take place tomorrow. And his first meeting with Elizabeth since that morning on the _Endeavour_, after her return from the land of the dead.

The day he had made his deal with Jack Sparrow. He was surprised at the rush of fiery longing that had rippled up his spine, the need to have her in his arms once more. The need to have her for his own, once and for all. His siren, uncontested by any man. He had never got around to telling Turner of his fiancée's betrayal. Maybe he would, before they left ship the next morning and ensure their bond was weakened even further. He wondered if she still harboured thoughts of revenge on him for her father's death. If so, he would just have to break them out of her; a task he looked forward to.

But right then, he needed to think over the conundrum of his feelings for Elizabeth Swann, to find out how deep they really went. Before he blew her to kingdom come, should she decide to fight his armada tomorrow, an event he surprisingly hoped would not come to pass. And knowing her pride, and pirately loyalties, so like his to the Crown, it seemed likely. Especially now she was a Pirate Lord. He had been informed of the events aboard the _Empress_ and the_ Dutchman_, and really he wasn't surprised. Sao Feng had made a very wise move indeed; he mused, when that creaking sound returned, disturbing the peace of the night.

The burning candle beside him was suddenly snuffed out by an invisible wind. He raised his pistol again, almost leaping from his seat. The cabin fell completely silent again, but Beckett remained tense, awaiting attack from some angle. The moonlight trickled in, illuminating parts of the cabin, throwing some into even deeper shadow. His eyes narrowed, adjusting to the light, and he saw something shift in the shadows by one wall. He raised his arm, drawing the hammer of his pistol back threateningly, wondering whether to call for assistance.

But the need for that was negated, when he heard a very familiar voice say archly, "Don't shoot, Beckett. I am unarmed,"

* * *

That voice soon had him subjected to another, very persistent need.

* * *

"Miss Swann. And it's Lord Beckett to you, Elizabeth," he sighed exasperatedly. Even though she was hidden in shadow, he could imagine her eyes rolling in derision. He suppressed an amused chuckle.

"So sorry, my Lord," she said sarcastically.

"Move out into the light," he barked, his tone commanding. Why was she here, to kill him? And how the hell did she get here? "I have some questions for you, Miss Swann…."

"Like how I got here, and why I am here?" she supplied, stepping into the moonlight. He kept his pistol trained on her, as he relaxed into his chair again.

"You assume correctly," he answered in a monotone, noticing a frown crossing her brow.

"As to how I got here, I actually have very little idea myself. And as to why, well I think that is obvious," she said, her voice becoming seductively husky, yet her eyes were still distant. A distance he decided he didn't like.

"Do elaborate," he said, smiling superiorly, knowing the action would enflame her temper. She hated his arrogance, that he knew very well. He covertly surveyed her form, taking in the figure-hugging Singaporean clothing, the black and gold leather surcoat, the long tunic, the boots with a slight curl to the toe. Her hair was braided down her back; he was visited with a strong urge to pull it from its restraints so it tumbled freely down her spine.

As she moved closer, he prepared himself for any violent behaviour, but was shocked when she walked right up to him, placed her hands on either side of his face and yanked his lips up to hers.

Elizabeth got the angle a little off, and their teeth clicked together, but she soon found herself drowning in the spice of her desire as he took control, after a shocked minute, hands dropping his pistol to curve around her waist, urging her to him. She knelt astride him, where he sat in the chair, putting her full weight onto him. He groaned quietly, and held her closer, tongue heatedly twining with hers, returning his passion for her desire.

Suddenly his hands left her and he broke away. She watched him, confused. Was he going to shout for his guards to take her prisoner? But she felt his fingers gliding into her hair, seeking out the band that held it tied up and removing it easily, with a gentle tug. Her hair unravelled itself, let loose like a waterfall of gold. He ran his fingers through the sun-bleached waves before looking her in the eyes. Her breath hitched at what she saw there. More than passion, more than simple lust there was something else; a possessiveness she had always known was there, had always feared but now it was tempered by something else. Something indefinable, something strangely close to devotion, in those usually cold blue eyes. But further thought was wiped away as he took her mouth again, hands moving to the neck of her tunic, ripping it open desperately.

She gasped and swayed, clutching his shoulders for balance, pressing herself closer to him. God she hoped the baby didn't decide to start kicking!

Beckett felt the yielding body in his arms, as he had fantasized for so long, and couldn't believe it. That she had appeared from nowhere was incredible enough, but that she was as desirous as he was straining the credulity of the situation. He must be dreaming; he'd probably fallen asleep at his desk. When she broke away, standing up and backing off slightly, he huffed disappointedly, aware of a burgeoning ache in his heart, as well as his groin.

_Wonderful_, he thought sarcastically, _this is all I need, the night before the fruition of my plans. Impossible hallucinations. _

But when she stood still, her eyes glowing with desire, she held out her hand in entreaty. His eyes widened, his mind finally convinced of the reality of the situation.

"Elizabeth…" he whispered, his voice trembling with longing as he stood, pulled her to him hard, and kissed her, his hands framing her face. She returned it, sinking against his body, cradling the hardness sending shivers down both their spines.

Elizabeth twined her arms around his neck, arching sinuously in the cradle of his arms, inviting his exploration. Eventually he released her waist, running his hands down her body, pressing his fingers into warm, solid flesh. His lips wrenched from hers to feverishly devour her now bare neck, as she gasped, her hand fisted around the ponytail of his wig, her head arched towards the ceiling.

Her knees weakened by the second, it was only his grip that prevented her from collapsing onto the floor, possibly taking him with her. But Beckett had something more civilized in mind. First, however, he needed to know the truth behind her sudden appearance. The way she had initiated their interaction like that spoke of more than just frustrated, latent desire but some far more powerful emotion.

An emotion he had felt stirring within himself the moment he had lain eyes on her, kneeling in her drenched wedding gown at the alter of the chapel in Port Royal. He had mistaken it for lust, but it had grown into so much more. A weakness, and one that would have to be remedied as soon as possible.

"Cutler…." Her aroused moan brought him back to reality, as he turned her and guided her roughly into the area that made up his sleeping quarters. His surprise at her using his first name soon dissipated as she levered herself up in his now punishing embrace, dragging the soft flesh of her abdomen over the evidence of his desire. He shoved her away from him, stripping his coat off and flinging it carelessly over a nearby chair before he switched his gaze back to her, eyes taking in the sight of her sprawled over his bed hungrily. Her pupils dilated, as her already ragged breathing became even more uneven, and she raised her hands to her tunic. He watched as she pulled the halves apart until, unable to bear it any longer, he marched over and lowered himself onto her, his hands now helping her to disrobe.

Their lips met again, in a languorously slow kiss, of such sensual promise, Elizabeth wanted to cry out. But his mouth drank the sound in, not allowing her the licence of expressing her pleasure verbally. In a daze, she felt his soft fingers on her bare skin, the cool night air caressing her heating flesh. His signet ring twinkled in the silvery moonlight, scratching a jagged path down the centre of her torso. The sensitivity of her skin increased, as his lips followed the same torturous route, peeling back the clinging material. She quickly removed her arms, pulling them from the restrictive sleeves.

Her gasp of pure pleasure when his lips caressed the base of her throat working his way downwards was like a siren's song. Especially to him, his own personal temptress. Just the feel of her soft, pliant body beneath his, thrumming with desire made his blood boil. At the thought his mouth returned to hers, possessively conquering the sweet cavern.

Elizabeth struggled to think through the morass of need he had encompassed her in, but she needed to tell him her purpose, and her true feelings for him, in order to search for his own. And just in case he wasn't sincere, she had a knife hidden in the back of her body belt. But then she felt him pause, and she dimly realized, with a shudder of panic, that his hand slipped around underneath her back, and was no doubt feeling the outline of the knife.

* * *

_Oh God_, she thought, closing her eyes. _He's going to think I came to kill him or something male and stupid like that_.

She opened her eyes to take his image in, still dressed in a billowy white shirt, black and silver waistcoat and his habitual breeches and boots. His eyes, still dazed with passion, were now narrowed haughtily, his lip curling slightly.

"Cutler, let me….." she began, taking an exasperated sigh.

"Allow me, my dear. Jack, no doubt, found out about our past liaison and now sends you to me as a distraction, whilst you plunge a knife into my back, thus avenging your father and getting me off his and pirate kind's back. Do I hit the mark?" he asked derisively, his weight holding her into the bed. Elizabeth snorted, rolling her eyes at the complete stupidity of men.

"Of all the nonsensical, paranoid things to think of, that is the worst I have ever heard!" she exploded, her voice rising an octave or two. He narrowed his eyes some more, debating whether to kill her himself or summon the marines. But first some answers, since she seemed so indignant.

"Why did you come here then?" he asked, sliding the knife from its hiding place, and tossing it into some dark corner of the room. She glared at him, refusing to answer. He raised an eyebrow warningly, until she sighed, capitulating.

"Alright I'll tell you, although you'll probably still try to kill me tomorrow anyway. But first, answer me this, Lord High-and-Mighty," she began sarcastically, her own eyebrow rising, "how did Jack get me all the way out here, out of range of a ship, let alone a longboat?"

Beckett thought about it, but couldn't see how she could've done it without detection, not to mention her slipping aboard without rousing the ship and getting into his quarters without a sound. He was speechless for once in his life.

"Why did you come then, if not to kill me? And why the knife?" Beckett hid behind his incessant questions, refusing her any leeway.

"The knife was to protect myself should you have decided to kill me, when I appeared," she explained, squirming slightly in his hold. He glared at her, noticing her reluctance to answer his other question.

"And the other?" he demanded, pressing his body into hers, using their sensual bond against her. She gasped wildly, burning him with her own fiery glare. Eventually deciding she couldn't get around it, she huffed and replied, "Isn't it rather obvious? I came here because I wanted to be with you, one last time before we blow each other to kingdom come tomorrow. I came because I love you; you stupid, arrogant, paranoid son of a…."

"Have you quite finished?" he interrupted, smirking. She narrowed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. She couldn't believe how much she had revealed to him. "Good," he whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

* * *

His lips touched hers, tentative at first before they hardened, melding her lips to his, locked together beyond recall of individuality. She shifted, moaning, her lips clinging to his, whilst he resumed seducing her very willing mind and senses. Her hands moved up his chest, lingering on the buttonholes of his waistcoat. She felt his sigh of exasperation before he gave in, rolling onto his back, taking her with him, allowing her to undress him. She eagerly pulled off the waistcoat, fingers absorbing the texture of the expensive material, reflecting it had nothing on the feel of his skin.

She felt him kick his boots off, legs moving beneath her as she kissed him, stripping off her own tunic and surcoat, until she was clad only in the thin midnight black silk shift underneath, the only thing she had been able to find in Sao Feng's wardrobes. His hands traced her curves hungrily, pulling her down into his arms, burying his face in her hair. She was surprised he'd let her take charge, albeit for about five seconds.

"My turn," he remarked hoarsely, flipping her over, leaving her sprawled, utterly breathless, beneath him. His weight left her, and she heard his chuckle, at her involuntary moan of loss. She needed him, and he clearly needed her, so why didn't he just stop fooling around and give what they both desired already?

Until she felt his lips and hands on her calves, tracing the swell upwards. When he reached the hem of her shift, he used his hand to brush it upwards. His eyes locked on hers, as he moved higher up her limbs, brushing wet, burning kisses on her goose-pimpled flesh. She lay, her arms above her head, submissively letting him put her through sensual torture, desperately hoping he was going to do what she hoped he would.

His gaze enthralled hers still, as his mouth brushed the now bare skin of thighs so tense they were like rock. Her gaze wandered for a moment, and suddenly he pounced. She felt his warm breath, his soft lips against a part of her he had only touched with his hands. She cried out and arched, as he kissed and began to turn the sensual rack a bit tighter. The pleasure now coursing through her was unbearable, and she felt herself sated as he moved away, lips returning to hers, burning with her own essence.

Urgent now, she pulled off his shirt, flexing her hands over the rippling muscles, as he finished disrobing. She felt his hands on the tie of her shift, and she tried to fumble the knot undone, but his hands slapped her away.

"Damn difficult woman," she thought she heard him mutter. And then she suddenly felt his skin at last on hers, his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth.

Within seconds he was within her, and she was clinging to him for dear life, helpless against the onslaught of emotion and sensation. Her nails dug into his back, as he gave out an agonized groan, teeth gritted against the need welling throughout his body. All he knew was that she loved him, and she wanted him, although she was under the illusion that she would be leaving the _Endeavour_ in the morning.

That was something he most certainly would not permit. She would not return to her pirate allies, and put her life at risk for nothing. She belonged with him now, and perhaps she knew it because she clung to him tightly, as he flexed into her body, passionate cries of release coming from both their mouths. Both had been frustrated, restless, needing and now both were gaining their release.

The moon had just begun to wane when they finally collapsed, exhausted, upon one another. He dug deep for the energy to lift from her, and tucked her into his side, one arm possessively around her waist, holding her tightly. He never wanted to let go, and nor would he. She was his.

* * *

Elizabeth awoke with a strange feeling of déjà vu. She was once again lying in Beckett's bed after a night of illicit passion, and again she was about to attempt to sneak away without waking him. She hated herself for it because, at last, she had seen a true glimmer of emotion in his icy blue eyes. When she had revealed her love, his eyes had, well, had glowed and not just with triumph and smugness, but an overwhelming possessiveness and an answering devotion. Had he fallen in love with her in return?

She managed to wriggle out from beneath his arm, and silently swiped her clothes from the floor, dressing quickly. She discovered, with a slightly rueful smile, that her shift was partially torn. The cabin was still dark, the dawn not yet near. The ship was silent.

Elizabeth looked around, searching for the stretch of wall she'd come through. Locating it at last, in the semi-darkness, she looked back towards the sleeping quarters, a wistful smile creeping over her thoroughly sated expression. She thanked heaven that he slept so deeply after their amorous encounters, because if he did awake, if he did catch her she knew now she didn't possess the strength to resist him.

Or he her, for that matter.

Knowing she was being foolish, she tiptoed into the sleeping quarters, and planted a kiss on his stubble grazed cheek, noticing wryly that his wig had somehow remained intact. He mumbled, sighing her name, and she felt her heartstrings tug. But at the end of the day, he wanted to destroy piratekind, and she was a pirate. In fact she was King of the Brethren Court now.

Good thing he hadn't known about that otherwise, he might've shot her on sight instead of letting her get close enough to seduce him. Sighing, she blew a kiss over her shoulder and walked out, and through the slightly shimmering wall that would lead back to the brig of the _Pearl_.

Her time was up. Now it was kill or be killed.


	5. Chapter 5

My Siren-Chapter 5

_Set during the parlay scene from AWE. Will Beckett discover Elizabeth's impending motherhood?_

(No flamers just because I use film dialogue please! If you don't like it, just skip it!)

* * *

_The Black Pearl_

Elizabeth stood at the helm of the _Pearl,_ waiting with bated breath alongside her fellow pirates, for the _Endeavour _to emerge from the early morning mist. She knew it would, she had been both dreading and wishing for the sight of her lover's ship. The effects of their last night together still told on her, her limbs heavy and as lethargic as when she had run from the EITC offices five months ago. She let out a slight shiver, allowing the pleasure of those memories to warm her, one last time, before she had to assume her cloak.

She was the Pirate King; the Pirate Lord of Singapore and sworn enemy of the EITC. She could allow nothing to stand in the way of safeguarding piracy. Not even her love for the man sailing ever closer to them, just as intent upon destroying them as they were on destroying him. She didn't even want to think about what would happen, should the battle go awry and the EITC win. And so she wouldn't; Elizabeth Swann never did anything she did not wish to do.

* * *

Out of the mists, which floated atop the sea like a second ocean of silvery water, the _Endeavour_ came, gliding gracefully through the swell. Elizabeth's heart sank, despite the incessant thudding against her ribcage. She knew it would be the death of her, to have anything to do with killing her lover and the father of her child. But what choice did she have now? Her hand went to her belly, stroking the little life growing inside her.

I'm sorry little one, she thought, her eyes misting with tears. She watched blankly as the _Endeavour_ sailed forth, the armada of the EITC regally gliding behind it. They were outnumbered, by at least twenty to one. And no mercy would be shown…..

"Parlay?" she heard Jack murmur behind her, as the pirates turned to him accusingly, their eyes cold and murderous.

* * *

_A sandbar, somewhere between the EITC fleet and the pirate band_

Beckett watched as three indistinct figures walked towards him, from the other end of the conveniently placed spit of land between the two opposing forces. He recognised the rangy gait of the tall, middle-aged man on the left, Hector Barbossa no doubt. The man on the right had a confident swagger about his person, so that was clearly Jack Sparrow.

But who had the Brethren court sent as the third negotiator?

It was only as they drew near, and the sun flashed upon the gold embroidery and gilded hilt of her sword, that he recognised the graceful walk and slender figure of Elizabeth Swann. He smirked, remembering the groan that had escaped his lips when he had awoken that morning to discover Elizabeth gone. Again. That woman had an annoying habit of sneaking away; one that was trying his patience.

For goodness sake, the woman admitted her feelings to him, and then ran away at first light, disappearing like a dream into the mists!

He kept his calm, arrogant veneer in place; eyes twinkling with false amusement as the trio stopped a few paces away. He felt Jones shift impatiently beside him, he himself feeling a fellow urge to wrap his hands around Jack Sparrow's impudent neck. But that would come soon enough. Right then Beckett was trying to decipher a way to get Elizabeth out of danger, have her confess her feelings so he could profess his, and still fulfil his goal of destroying all pirates.

* * *

Finally the pirate delegation halted in front of them, as Beckett looked down his nose at them, his dark gaze superior and intimidating as he surveyed each one of them.

"So ye be the cur that led these wolves to our door," Barbossa growled, eyes glaring at Turner beside him.

"Don't blame Turner. He was merely the tool of your betrayal. If you wish to see its grand architect, look to your left," Beckett interjected, his eyes settling on Sparrow triumphantly. Elizabeth and Barbossa stared at him incredulously. Jack, as usual, tried to wriggle out of it. But Elizabeth ignored him as her gaze switched back to Beckett, and then to Will as her gaze softened. Slightly alarmed, Beckett searched her face, but he could detect no amorous feelings for Turner just sympathy and forgiveness.

"Will, I understand the burden you bear but I fear that cause is lost," she said quietly, a slight smile on her face. She may not love him anymore, but he had been her friend long before he had been her fiancé.

"No cause is lost, if there is but one fool left to fight for it," Will answered, his eyes flicking towards Jack. Beckett did not notice the subtle nuance, so deep was he in Elizabeth's eyes as they flashed back to him. They narrowed, as she glanced to Jack, cowering as Jones raged at him for evading his servitude aboard the _Dutchman_.

"I propose an exchange. Will leaves with us, and you can take Jack," she said persuasively, her mind whirring. Jack wanted to avoid death and punishment in the Locker by taking Jones' place. By getting him onto the ship, they would give him the best chance he could have whilst she and the Brethren provided a distraction. That way the _Dutchman_ would be taken out of action and Beckett would have lost his main advantage. But there was still the issue of his greater numbers.

* * *

Beckett cocked his head, curiously watching her, trying to see past her façade of hostility into her soul.

"Done!" Will said.

"Undone!" Jack shouted back indignantly.

"Done!" Beckett said commandingly.

"Jack's one of the nine Pirate Lords; you have no right!" Barbossa said angrily, his face right in Elizabeth's. Elizabeth merely sneered and replied dismissively.

"King!" with that she turned to Jack, glaring at him as he sighed submissively, took his hat off courteously and swept her an extravagant bow.

"As you command, your nibs,"

Beckett, intrigued by this new piece of information, didn't notice Barbossa assaulting Jack. He didn't care. All he could see was Elizabeth, the Pirate King. Oh Lord this was going to complicate things, he thought peevishly. But as she turned to him, her eyes cold and indifferent, he realized she had made her choice. She had chosen her loyalty to the pirates over her love for him. And so must he.

* * *

As Will swapped places with Jack, Beckett sliding sideways to put Jack next to Jones, he stepped forward, a cold expression on his face.

"Advise your Brethren; you can fight and all of you will die, or you can not fight; in which case only most of you will die," he said, his voice as icy as the wind sliding through Elizabeth's clothes.

God how her heart hurt watching him, taking her ruse for truth. He couldn't see the pain and suffering she was experiencing as she contemplated having to kill him. He, the father of her child, not that he knew of that fact. But she had to keep the charade going. He had chosen his loyalties, and so must she.

"You murdered my father," she growled, stepping forward threateningly. Beckett's eyes flickered, hiding the surge of emotion in the azure depths.

"He chose his own fate," he answered back, taking her back several weeks, to that morning on the _Endeavour_. She inwardly flinched, all her desire and love for this cold, impossible, arrogant arse rioting to the fore. She battled herself, winning long enough to say confidently, her voice under control.

"And you have chosen yours. We will fight, and you will die," but not by my hand, she finished silently. With that she turned away, not waiting for Barbossa and Turner to catch up, striding away before her emotions got the better of her, and she turned tail and ran into his arms, proclaiming her undying love. She would love him until the day she died, despite his crimes against her.

* * *

Beckett watched her go, his eyes following her every step, drinking in her beauty, for the last time. He led the way back to the longboat, motioning Jack in beside Jones. He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of Jack, squirming next to the crustaceous, grotesque form of Jones. Jack caught the smirk, as he smiled cockily back, gleefully about to put a spike into Beckett's emotion shield.

"By the way mate; ye migh' wanna go easy on ol' 'Lizabeth," he suggested, eyes sliding to her slowly retreating form. Interest piqued, Beckett paused.

"Oh? And why should I do that, Jack?" he asked silkily, sure it was a ploy to avoid his fate.

"Cos she's carryin' your kid, Beckett," Jack replied bluntly. At the widening of Beckett's eyes, and Jones going completely still beside him he grinned, enjoying himself.

"What did you say?" the words were an order, not a question. Jack sighed, drawing the suddenly tense silence out, broken only by the waves lapping against the shore.

"I said she, as in Elizabeth Swann King of the Brethren Court, is carryin' your issue. I'd say it be bout five months gone by now. Bit silly if ye ask me, going into battle when yer pregnant," he said aside to Jones. Jones sent him a narrow-eyed look whilst Beckett whirled to stare at Elizabeth, inspecting her form. He really couldn't tell through her tunic, but she did seem a little bit….fuller than before, around the abdomen. Was Jack telling the truth or was he making up stories to save his own skin? But what did he stand to gain from telling Beckett that Elizabeth was pregnant by him?

If she was carrying his child, he wouldn't let her escape him now.

* * *

"Miss Swann!" he called, keeping his voice imperious and commanding. Elizabeth, Barbossa and Turner paused, as they looked behind them.

"I have something I wish to tell you, regarding your father. Something he wished you to know before he died," he called enticingly. He needed her away from her bodyguards. Elizabeth paused, her eyes filled with curiosity.

"Don' do it, your majesty. He be only wantin' to torture yer more," Barbossa cautioned her. She ignored him, walking back towards Beckett. As Turner and Barbossa started after her, she held up her hand to halt them.

"He's no danger to me," she reassured them, leaving them some distance behind. Elizabeth noticed Beckett was walking towards her, away from his own companions, far enough that they could not be overheard, no matter what was said. Their heights were similar enough that the other's face and torso was hidden, their bodies hiding their conversation. But as she neared, she saw Beckett's cold façade of arrogance disappear, and her heart sank. They stopped, a bare pace apart, and his breathing was ragged and harsh, her own not much better.

"What do you have to tell me, Beckett?" she asked haughtily, her courage quailing under the anger in his eyes.

"When were you planning on telling me about the child?" he retorted, his voice filled with icy rage. Elizabeth almost stepped back under his intimidating gaze, but managed to stop herself.

"What child?" she said, trying denial. But Beckett stepped forward, his movements hidden by her torso and, before she could stop him, he pushed aside her various layers of clothing, sliding his hands onto her bare abdomen. Her eyelids flickered, pleasure surging from his touch.

"What are you doing?" she breathed, her voice supposed to be cutting, but instead coming out in a yearning whisper. Suddenly she felt a sudden, slight pain, directly beneath Beckett's hand. She whimpered, gritting her teeth. It seemed her little one knew its father, when it heard his voice. She heard his own breath hitch.

"So it's true," he breathed, keeping his hand on her slightly swollen belly. She tried to step back, they couldn't do this. "You're pregnant,"

"Yes; what of it?" she asked cuttingly, unable to move back. Beckett's gaze snapped back up to hers, and the tender, emotion filled eyes snapped back to their cold arrogance. Taken aback, Elizabeth was filled with a desire to see that tenderness back on his face.

"You are coming back with me. I will not allow the mother of my child to go gallivanting off with pirates," he said, his words a downright order. Elizabeth bristled.

"I will do what I wish, Beckett. You have no right to dictate to me. I am the Pirate King, ergo I belong with my Brethren," she countered, refusing to be intimidated.

"Brethren which are about to be slaughtered. You cannot seriously consider sacrificing our child," he argued, fighting desperately to avoid simply hauling her into his arms, over his shoulder and into the longboat. He'd be dead in seconds anyway.

"I will not leave them," she told him, her chin rising imperiously.

"Elizabeth, what do you want me to say? That I'll call off the fleet, and allow your freedom? I cannot do it," he sighed, still not removing his hand. The baby kicked again, and his eyes filled with tenderness and love, vulnerability spilling from him. Elizabeth softened, wishing there was another way out. She was going to kill Jack, however.

"Cutler, just let us go. Please…" she pleaded her voice full of yearning. She tried to turn away, she knew Barbossa and Will would be getting antsy, but he pulled her back, shooting out a hand to clutch her wrist. His face was now full of anger, and aggression.

"Tell me, Pirate King, is your reticence to surrender to me because of another, I wonder? Does your heart still turn hopelessly to another?" he asked bitterly, his voice slightly mocking. Elizabeth tried to twist her wrist free, without making it look like he was restraining her. She knew what he was insinuating; that she still had feelings for Will. But surely he knew that her heart belonged to him now, as surely as if she had cut it out and placed it in the Dead Man's Chest? Although judging by the look on his face, apparently not. She took a deep breath, knowing her words would be foolish in the extreme, making their respective tasks even more difficult.

"I love only you, Cutler. My words to you last night were no lie and they will remain that way until the day I die," she vowed her voice quiet and sincere. She felt him take a deep breath, his eyes snapping back down to her belly, as the baby kicked yet again, responding to the pressure on her womb, before the blue orbs returned to her brown ones. To her surprise they were filled with a vulnerability she had never thought possible for Lord Cutler Beckett.

"And I love you, Elizabeth Swann. I will do so until the day we both depart this earth," he told her calmly, his voice no louder than a whisper. She was filled with the overwhelming need to kiss him, here and now, in sight of their allies. She quashed it, seeing the same need flare in his eyes, and his subsequent denial of it. His hand left her abdomen to caress her hand, longing sounding in his slightly hoarse, husky tones.

"Come back with me, Elizabeth. Let me save your life, both your lives. Please," he pleaded, aching to touch her, to take her into his arms, to hold her and their baby. But their position, with her restless allies close by, and his minions in close range would not be a wise idea. He kept his eyes on hers, his expression lapsing into indifference, just in case Turner and Barbossa were watching. Elizabeth shook her head, her indecision in her eyes. He tried one last time. "Elizabeth please. Let me protect you,"

"I made my choice a long time ago, Cutler," she whispered, her eyes showing her pain. She began to draw away, but Beckett stopped her. He could not blame her for her conviction, or her courage. They were part of the reason he loved her. He knew now the name of that indescribable emotion that had stirred him at their first meeting, and subsequently awoken it in her. But he wished with all his heart that it was not so. But would he still love her, if she were not so courageous or determined to see it through? They were qualities he recognised within himself, just one of the many similarities between the two of them.

* * *

She would not let him protect her in the best way, he could at least offer her some defence. He quickly removed his signet ring, bearing the crest of the EITC, and pressed it into her hand; fingers lingering, stroking down her palm, aware this could be the last time he touched her, or even saw her alive. "Take this, my Elizabeth. It will not protect against cutlass or bullet, but it may help you evade the EITC should you survive,"

She took the ring, hiding it in her fist. The gold flashed in the sun.

"I want that returned, mind you," he said, in a cocky tone. She flashed him a sad smile, eyes lingering on his face.

"Don't worry I will," she promised him, before her expression changed, becoming deadpan. Devoid of emotion, she walked back to her waiting companions as he returned to his. "So be it," he muttered, taking one last sight of his love, beautiful and proud against the midday sun. Their eyes remained locked as the longboats drew away and they returned to their respective sides. To prepare for battle…

* * *

_The Black Pearl_

Elizabeth pulled herself over the railing, her hair and clothes drenched. The _Dutchman _had been successfully neutralized, lost to the maelstrom that opened, giving them a battleground. She flinched from a stab of grief as she flopped onto the deck. She had just seen her childhood friend and onetime fiancé dragged into the depths, stabbed through the heart by Jones. Jack had ensured his survival by having Will stab Jones's heart. But would the ship survive?

"Ship ahoy!"

At the shout, Elizabeth scrambled up to see the _Endeavour_ gliding towards them. Her heart sank; it seemed Beckett wasn't going to let them escape so easily. The armada sailed forth behind him, ready for battle.

"Ready cannons!" she heard Barbossa shout. Suddenly the _Dutchman_ crashed through the sea beside them, and she recognised the figure of Will standing at the helm. Her heart sank, seeing a loaded glance exchanged between the two captains. As happy as she was that Will had survived, she felt something within her die. She couldn't allow them to kill her love. Her fingers caressed the band of gold around her left ring finger, the EITC ring Beckett had given her to help her escape. They could still run.

"No!" she shouted, grabbing Barbossa's arm. "They are too many. We should run whilst we still can!" she implored him. Barbossa started in surprise. Only a few hours ago, she had been hell-bent on revenge, and now she wanted to run? He glanced down and clearly saw, for the first time, the ornate ring upon her left ring finger. His eyes narrowed cruelly.

"And why be that, Miss Swann?" he asked derisively. When she couldn't answer, it was a very sudden change of heart after all, his lip curled.

"Take this traitor to the brig!"

Elizabeth struggled, her face enraged. Her anger made her reckless

"You would kill the father of my child, Barbossa? Take away its father before it's even born?" she asked furiously. Barbossa stopped, aghast.

"Child? Ye be pregnant?" he asked, spluttering slightly. Her eyes gave him his answer. He faltered slightly, as the _Endeavour _drew ever nearer. He looked back to the approaching warship, its cannons loaded and ready to tear the _Pearl_ apart. But if he spared the _Endeavour_, Beckett would never stop, would never rest until they all hung from the end of a rope.

"Restrain her!" he shouted, his mind made up. Jack fidgeted beside him, his face uncomfortable.

"Jack, please! We can't do this!" she shouted, her tone pleading, struggling against the men holding her arms. Jack looked over at her, pity in his eyes, but also stern purpose.

"Elizabeth, this must be done. Beckett will never stop, until we all dangle from the end of a rope. I'm sorry, but plenty more fish in the sea, eh?" he finished, his tone going from sympathetic to callous. Elizabeth watched helplessly, as the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ bore down on the _Endeavour_.

"Fire!" the order came from two mouths, the tone commanding.

Cannonade exploded from both ships, delving deep into the hull of the _Endeavour_.

The _Endeavour_ tried to fight back, but the damage to its hull was too extensive. The fleet followed closely behind, already loosing off their cannons. Elizabeth watched, her heart breaking, as the _Endeavour _slowly began to sink, its crew either dead or floating in the water. As the two ships sailed into battle with the EITC armada, the two pirates holding Elizabeth captive released her, as she sank to the floor.

There was no way Beckett could've survived that onslaught. The father of her child was dead.

Tears fell as cannon balls erupted through the hull around her, pirates shouting and rushing to their battle stations. Screams of the dying erupted around her, piercing her grief. The EITC still had the upper hand, the pirate fleet unable to do more than make their final stand. Slowly she stood, taking her cutlass in her hand, trembling with grief. She saw Barbossa and Jack, fighting a group of marines that had managed to board their ship. With a heartbroken cry, she threw herself into the fight, fighting to survive.

Cutler Beckett would not die; he would live on through her and their child. But afterward, she would not stop until Barbossa and Jack died for their treachery. She would make sure of that. But first she had to survive.

_Hold on, my little one_, she thought, as she parried a blow from a naval officer, Beckett's ring flashing in the sunlight. _Hold on….._


	6. Chapter 6

My Siren

_This chapter is set one year after AWE, and Elizabeth has given birth to twins. (A/N: I couldn't decide between giving her a boy or a girl, so sorry if it's a bit Star Wars) Please R&R!_

* * *

_Just outside of Kingston, Jamaica_

Stormy clouds raced in, over the peaceful blue horizon, just beginning to succumb to the orange rays of the sunset. Lightening and thunder flickered and crashed in the distance, the tropical storm drawing nearer. The rising wind tugged and played at the black ribbon holding a powdered wig in check, the owner astride a powerful, grey gelding cantering surely along the potholed dusty track leading away from the sprawling port of Kingston. The jungle, withheld by the spread of civilisation, was thicker here, almost hiding the small, tidy house in the distance from view. The house was of grey stone, with a light slate roof; the lintels of the windows were of dark mahogany. One window stood ajar, letting cool air in from the sea, a single candle flickering in its portal.

The thuds of the gelding's hooves upon the dirt track were muted, making no discernible sound on the dusty road. The man sitting atop the handsome horse wore lacquered black boots, his frame hidden from any eyes by a long black caped greatcoat, his head covered by a simple tricorn hat, the curl of his white wig just visible. Cold blue eyes flicked up to the flickering candle, a woman's soft voice just discernible above the shriek of the wind.

"_Some have died and some are alive. Others sail on the sea, with the keys to the cage and the devil to pay; we lay to Fiddler's Green. The bell has been raised from its watery grave; hear its sepulchral tone. A call to all, pay heed the squall, turn your sails to home,_" the soft voice sang, the strains lilting, soothing despite its theme. As the man on the horse dismounted, a smirk crossed his thin lips, the light from the lantern above the door glinting off silver embroidery and black velvet, hidden beneath his greatcoat. His siren was singing.

* * *

Elizabeth Swann sat beside the simple wooden cradle, in which her children slept fitfully. The light from the nearby fire and the candle on the windowsill gilded her still tanned skin, her golden streaked hair. She was clothed in a white billowy shirt, covered by an emerald waistcoat and a black skirt, the sides of her long hair pulled back and into a bun on the back of her head. The light danced in her chocolate eyes, danced on a golden ring on her left hand. She shushed her babies, rocking the cradle slightly, lulling them to sleep. Her soft voice rang out, pure and sweet in the silent house.

"_Yo ho haul together, hoist the colours high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die,"_ she finished her song. Leaning into the cradle, she watched her son, James Cutler Beckett; raise one podgy fist, grasping at her finger in his sleep. She stroked the wispy blonde curls on his head, her gaze switching to her daughter, Isabella Pearl Beckett, her piercing blue eyes blinking heavy lids at her until they fell, giving into slumber with a stubborn sigh. Just like her father, Elizabeth thought wryly, her eyes misting for a moment, as she remembered her lost love. She sighed, scattering the memories, as she stood, closed the window and blew out the candle, the soft light of the fire flickering in the now-shadowed room.

"Goodnight, my little ones," she breathed, tiptoeing out.

After that climatic battle, in which the East India Trading Company and the Brethren fought and decimated each other, Elizabeth had retired from the pirate life, getting as far away from the memories of her old life as possible. But she had found it impossible to leave the Caribbean altogether, it was her home. Piracy was still as dangerous as ever; the EITC still hunting each and every pirate down, but they no longer had the advantage of the _Dutchman_ to give them a weapon. Business was as usual on the seas of the Spanish Main.

After the surviving pirates fled the final battle, Elizabeth had been forced into exile for her relationship with Lord Beckett, and she had gone willingly, deciding the world of pirates was no place for a child. Except four months later, her pregnancy had culminated in the birth of not one but two beautiful children.

Twins were it not for their differing appearances. James, named for her dead friend and onetime fiancé Norrington, possessed her chocolate eyes and blonde curls whereas Isabella bore her father's azure blue eyes and rich brown hair, though she had Elizabeth's soft skin and delicate features. She still shivered every time Isabella looked at her; it was like Beckett was staring at her through those identical sapphire orbs.

She had never had a chance to gain her revenge; as Barbossa and Jack had sailed off with the _Pearl_, disappearing into the mists of legend. She didn't care; she had her children now.

She was still visited by people from her old life; namely Gibbs and even, once a visit from Beckett's old lieutenant, Groves.

She mused on her memories as she slipped through the door into her bedroom, directly next to her children. She searched the medium-sized, cosy room; the walls painted a rich red colour, contrasting with the dark wood of the furniture. She sighed, leaning against the doorpost, anticipating another fitful night, full of dreams and remembering of lost passion. She never slept well anymore, her mind always full of nightmares. She lit one of the small lanterns on her bedside table, crossing to ensure the windows were securely shuttered against the encroaching storm.

A creak sounded outside her room, in the hallway. She straightened, her reactions slightly slowed, as she grabbed a pistol and stepped cautiously into the hallway, primed to shoot.

The hallway was dark and shadowy, the corridor leading away from Elizabeth's and the children's rooms to the stairway. She searched the shadows surrounding the stairwell, finally making out a cloaked and booted figure, with similar stature to her own. She raised the pistol threateningly, moving to stand in front of the children's door.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" she asked, her tone commanding, harking back to her piratical past. Her aim was sure, her hand steady. The figure advanced a few steps, just outside the dim pool of light thrown by a lantern. "Stop right there!" she barked, her voice just low enough to avoid waking Isabella and James. The intruder halted, and she could see a white hand fiddling with the buttons of a greatcoat. A shudder of recognition rippled with her. Did she know this intruder?

"Come any closer, and I will shoot," she warned, thinking fast.

"Now, now Elizabeth. That's no way to greet the man you love," said a silky, seductively smooth voice. Elizabeth gasped, the breath knocked out of her.

"Cutler…." her voice was a rough, hoarse whisper. She hardly dared to believe it. The figure moved forward with a confident step.

"Yes, sweetheart, it's me," he answered, his eyes alive with blazing emotion. Her hand lowered, trembling as she took in his hale, whole appearance. He was dressed in a black greatcoat, a black velvet coat beneath it, his white necktie shining in the candlelight. Her gaze lowered to his strong legs, encased in black breeches and lacquered riding boots. As her gaze travelled back up his body, back to his blazing blue eyes, he sighed, taking off his hat.

"This isn't like you, Elizabeth. Have you nothing to say?" he asked, stepping further into the pool of light. At that she broke the tense atmosphere, dropped the pistol onto a side table and rushed into his arms, flinging hers around his neck. His arms closed around her, his hands sliding into her hair, holding her to him. Beckett thought he heard a dry sob against his neck. He buried his face in her perfumed hair, breathing her scent in deep; conscious of a longing fulfilled, another taking its place. They stood, enmeshed in the other's arms, as Elizabeth took a deep shuddering breath, feeling his masculine scent in her nostrils.

"I thought you were dead," she mumbled into his neck, clinging to him, determined to never let go.

"I wasn't killed; merely wounded," he said with a hint of his old dismissive arrogance. She was strangely comforted by the fact. She released him, about to step back and make sure it wasn't a dream when he stopped her, hugging her to him desperately. He wasn't ready to let his siren go just yet. She stared up at him, drowning in his eyes. His gaze dropped to her lips before he took them hungrily, his hand cupping her jaw. She tilted her head back, sinking against him, deepening the embrace. Beckett kept the caress slow, languidly sensual, his tongue flicking and touching hers ever so gently. Elizabeth could feel herself beginning to awaken again, her body thrilling to his touch.

Passion she hadn't felt for months reawakened; as she tried to move faster, but his hold on her tightened, refusing her that licence. She suddenly shifted against him, feeling his desire for her pressed against her abdomen. His breath hitched in her mouth as he paused. She smirked through their kiss, easily imagining his glare.

But at that moment, a slight noise came from the children's bedroom, making Elizabeth pause also, drawing back from his lips to watch him. His eyes left hers to glance towards the door; a burning need in his eyes battling against a desperate curiosity. She inwardly sighed, but shrugged. They would have plenty of time for a proper reunion later. He needed to see his children for the first time. She stood back, missing the warmth of his arms in the cold hall, as she held out her hand invitingly.

"Take my hand. Come and meet your children," she said matter-of-factly. Beckett's brow creased. Children?

* * *

She led him into the large room housing her children, drawing him towards the large wooden cradle.

"I gave birth to twins," she explained, as he bent over the crib.

"A boy and a girl?" he asked, one hand stretched out to touch them tremblingly. Elizabeth blinked; she had never seen so much naked emotion in him before.

"James and Isabella," she said, by way of explanation. He stroked their hair, tenderness in every lineament of his face. She slotted her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder. His warm hand covered hers where it lay on his arm. When she raised her head to look in his eyes, she saw there such intense emotion; she had to look away, intently studying the pattern on his coat.

"I can't imagine the pain you had to go through," he sighed, tilting her chin to look up at him. She shut her eyes, remembering the incredible agony she had been in, forced to give birth twice. She had been so weak from blood loss; she hadn't been able to look after them for a month.

"It was worth it," she whispered, planting a quick kiss on his lips. Where her hand lay upon his cheek, he felt the cold sting of his signet ring. He broke away; bringing up his hand from where it lay upon his son and heir's head, to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"You kept it," he indicted the ring. Surprise showed in her eyes.

"Of course I did. It was my last reminder of you, when I thought I had lost you," she said quietly, tears filling her eyes. He kissed her, quick and hard, wiping away her tears. She looked up at him; with eyes so full of love he couldn't resist planting a kiss on her eyelids, holding her to him. With a dreamy sigh, she pulled off his greatcoat, flinging it onto a nearby chair, and she drew him down to sit with her beside the crackling fire. He settled her against his side, so they could watch their children sleep.

"What happened to you?" she asked softly, looking up and over her shoulder at him. She felt his chest expand, as he took an inordinately deep breath. Beckett shut his eyes, leaning his chin on her soft hair, as the memories of screams and explosions came rushing back.

"When the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman _attacked; we were taken totally by surprise. We fired back, but the damage to the hull was too extensive. We would've sunk anyway had the pirate armada not been firing on us. Many of us abandoned ship, only to be picked off in the water by sharpshooters. As I tried to escape the ship with the last of my men; I remember feeling a sudden burning pain, all the way down my side and then nothing. I awoke weeks later, to be told I had been caught in the side by a cannonball, and knocked unconscious. I was saved by the ensign, it protected me from the water; stopped me from sinking until a rescue ship came, after the battle had ended. By then I imagine I was close to death. Most of my left side had been sliced open," at this blunt statement, Elizabeth let out a horrified gasp, closing her eyes in agony. "Hush, Elizabeth. It is over now; we are both alive where we thought not to be. Anyway, after long painful weeks of recovery I decided to seek you out, to try and find out if you had survived. But you had disappeared; it was only after long fruitless searches that I received an anonymous letter informing me of your survival and your whereabouts. You always were a slippery one," he chuckled, rocking her in his lap. She smiled reminiscently. "Now, tell me what happened to you,"

With a deep breath, she told him of those last few, gut-wrenching moments aboard the _Pearl_, when she had tried desperately to stop Barbossa and Jack firing on the _Endeavour_. She mentioned her exile, how she had gone to an old friend in Jamaica, who had found her the house and looked after her through her pregnancy. She told him of the visits from Gibbs, and even from Lieutenant Groves. When she had finished, she noticed his eyes were burning darkly, with an emotion she knew she didn't like. "Don't even think about going after Jack and Barbossa," she growled warningly. His eyes flashed, and she sat up, moving away from him. He snatched her closer, arms closing aggressively around her waist.

"But to leave you stranded, friendless whilst you were pregnant, it…." His voice failed him.

"They were only doing what they had to. In their eyes, I had betrayed them irrevocably. No, don't start that! Please, Cutler my children have lost their father once, don't make them lose him again," she snapped warningly, putting her fingers over his lips, shutting him up. He gave in grudgingly, settling for kissing her fingers teasingly, taking the tips into his mouth and sucking on them gently. She gasped, her lids fluttering as she fell, utterly boneless, against him. He switched his attention to her lips, taking them aggressively, running his tongue over her lower lip.

"The children….." she breathed warningly against his lips. He grunted, before he lifted her with ease, wincing slightly as the movement stretched the skin around the scar of his wound. He carried her soundlessly into her bedroom, heeling the door shut and placing her on her feet.

* * *

The next moment, Elizabeth found herself pressed against the door, having the life kissed out of her.

She arched her spine; pressing her body against his. He bit down on her lip aggressively, taking her mouth in an almost furious manner. She fumbled at the buttons of his coat, wrenching the halves apart, pulling it down his shoulders. He pulled off his waistcoat himself, before pinning her back into the door. She gasped, ignoring the slight twinge of pain running down her back from his forceful movements.

He rolled his hips into hers, ripping off her waistcoat, trapping her arms behind her. He switched his attention to her neck, lips sucking and kissing ardently at her pulse points, hands desperately rediscovering her curves. Groaning, Elizabeth shrugged the waistcoat down, before she gripped the nape of his neck, pressing her skin closer to his lips. His hand pulled her shirt from the waistband of her skirts; sliding underneath to cup her swollen breast.

She arched her neck back, eyes at half mast. Seductive heat blossomed; she wanted him inside her desperately, to feel that passion only he could evoke once more. She ran her hand down the front of his breeches enticingly, letting him know without words exactly what she wanted. He groaned and ceased kissing her neck, breathing heavily against her skin. Without warning he pulled her roughly from the door, and shoved her against the bedpost. Her skirt slid down her legs to pool around her feet, revealing the long slender limbs. He ran his hand up her thigh, taking delight in the fractured gasps coming from her lips. She rapidly undid the cuffs of her sleeves, so the thin material dangled freely around her wrists.

Hauling her against him, he slowly lowered her to the bed, lips taking hers briefly, before they ran over her chin, down her neck to her collarbone, the area of gleaming skin, exposed by her v-necked shirt. She arched her head back, pressing into the pillows. Her hand clenched on his skull, pressing him closer; her lids closed. His hand skated over her thigh, until it reached her most sensitive areas. She gasped, suddenly completely breathless, empty and yearning.

She almost tore his shirt from him, her body filled with frantic urgency. He kicked off his riding boots, infected with her impatience as he played in the heat between her thighs. He looked up as he supported himself over her; flicking her hair from her face, finally free of his last restriction. In the moonlight; she looked like a silver sprite, the weak light turning the gold of her hair into luminescent strands of perfection. He kissed them tenderly, before he kissed her, driving deep into her mouth.

His hips mimicked the action, and finally, after so long, he was within her once more. She moaned, her body adjusting to the sudden intrusion, as she wrapped her legs around his body, struck by a sudden memory. Of them, lying entwined upon a bed, as he claimed her for his own, for the first time. At the thought, she kissed him, thankful they had both survived, thankful they could still have this, come what may.

As they raced for the promise of fulfilment, he bent his head down, gently biting her earlobe before he whispered.

"I love you, Elizabeth Swann, and I will never let you go,"

She sighed, letting him know her thoughts with her lips, her tongue, and her sweet submission to him. He deepened the kiss, tilting her head back against the pillows, and she moaned in desperation. With one last thrust of his body, they found their release, and collapsed with cries of satisfaction atop one another.

The couple on the bed lay entwined, as the moonlight rolled gentle beams over their cooling, naked bodies. Finally Beckett stirred enough to pull the sheets over them; content to remain within her as they fell asleep in the other's arms.

* * *

Beckett awoke some hours later, to the strange sensation of butterflies hopping over the skin of his chest. As he looked down, he dimly made out a golden streaked head, hair spilling over his muscles. Then it struck his fogged brain; not butterflies but lips. Elizabeth's hand traced the long, curving red scar that marred his left side, from his armpit to his hip. Her naked abdomen slid over his by-now aching flesh, and he sucked in a breath. She glanced up from her ministrations, to smirk at him.

"You're awake," she whispered, pulling herself over him to kiss his lips softly, beguilingly. His hands slid into her loose hair, delighting in the curls beneath his fingers. He trailed his hand down her spine, tracing the arch of her back. Before she could so much as gasp; he rolled her over onto her back, crushing her lips in his. She arched away from his lips, leaving him no choice but to slide his mouth down her neck. He rolled his hips into hers, letting her know his growing intentions. She eagerly stroked down his back, following the indent of his spine, caressing the muscles on either side. With an audible growl, Beckett grabbed her hands, and pinned her wrists down on either side of the pillow. She gasped, a gentle smile on her lips, as he returned to her lips. Full of yearning, she cried out in entreaty, feeling her desire return.

At that moment; a sudden sharp cry came from the children's room. Both Beckett and Elizabeth stilled, breaking from their desirous kiss. They stared into each other's eyes, before Elizabeth sighed, biting her lip.

"That'll be Isabella," she whispered. He closed his eyes in frustration, before he rolled off of her. She sat up in the twisted sheets, pushing her tousled hair from her face before she swung her legs out of bed. Beckett watched her, taking in her sleek limbs gilded by moonlight before they were covered by a cream dressing gown. She shot him a swift smile, as she tried to tidy her hair.

"You can tell them apart from their cries?" he asked incredulously, swiping his breeches from the end of the bed, pulling them on. He looked round at her, waiting for her answer. She grinned at him cheekily, leaning forward to brush a kiss over his lips.

"James rarely cries; Isabella on the other hand, likes to make her presence felt. She's utterly merciless in the pursuit of what she wants; just like her father," she said teasingly, pressing her lips to his for a moment. He returned the caress, until she broke away and slipped out the door. He pulled his shirt on, and followed her.

In the children's room, Elizabeth stood, cradling Isabella in her arms, hushing her soothingly. Beckett leant casually against the doorway, watching his love in such a show of maternal devotion. Her eyes glowed with love and pride; looking down on her little daughter. She felt his gaze, her smile faltering slightly.

"What is it?" she asked a curious expression on her face.

"You just look so…..domestic," he faltered. She let out a small laugh.

"Domestic? I'm not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult," she replied wryly. He walked over to her, placing his hands on her silken shoulders.

"It's just with your piratical past, it is a little strange, my lovely Elizabeth," he answered, kissing the soft waves of her golden hair. She leant back against him, still cradling their daughter. He glanced down at the delicate infant, noting she possessed his unruly brown curls.

"She has your eyes as well," Elizabeth told him, glancing into his sapphire blue ones. "Every day I looked into them, and I saw you staring back at me,"

She turned to him, settling Isabella into his arms, correcting his hold when he faltered. Turning, she picked up James, still asleep, resting his small head against her shoulder, the same blonde curls mingling with hers. She searched his face as he looked down into his daughter's face. She saw pride, devotion, possessiveness and was that a tear she saw, sparkling like a diamond in his eye?

James suddenly shifted against her shoulder, and she looked away, her cheeks wet. Glancing outside, she watched the lightning flashes against the iron grey clouds, the moon long since hidden if not already sunk into its watery bed. She laid James back down, covering him in his blanket, tucking him in tenderly. Sensing Beckett shift, she moved aside so he could lay Isabella down, fingers cradling her head protectively. She pulled the coverlet over them, kissing their brows. She noted his prideful, devoted look in his eyes, his face set. She slid her fingers into his, squeezing gently, reminding him of her presence. His eyes snapped back to hers, their expression changing instantly.

"They're so beautiful," he whispered, pulling her closer. "I never dreamed I would have this, Elizabeth,"

"Why not? Surely after you destroyed all the Brethren, you would have married, settled down, and had children?" she asked softly, watching his face.

"Not really. I never wanted this Elizabeth. I never even wanted marriage, because anything like that is a weakness, one easily exploited. Until I met you," he finished, cupping her face in his hand, turning her to him. Elizabeth smiled gently, inwardly surprised at the level of emotion and vulnerability he was exposing to her. He had let his guard down, allowed her into a part of his mind, no other had ever seen. This was not Lord Cutler Beckett, the tyrannical scourge of piracy, but the man behind it. And the sight intrigued her.

"Come back to bed," she whispered huskily, pulling him out the door. She closed the door softly, and preceded him into her bedroom. As soon as she heard the latch click, she turned back to him, dropping her dressing gown. It slithered down her arms, pooling around her feet like a sea of silk. He reached for her, his hands pulling Elizabeth the final step into his arms, their lips meeting with perfect synchronicity. She removed his shirt again, running her hand down his pectorals, teasing the tense muscle as he lifted her back onto the bed, before he joined her, continuing their desirous embrace. He pinned her wrists onto the pillow once more, tongue teasing hers in a heated duel, as their bodies merged into one once more.

Several moments later, they collapsed, sated and satisfied. Beckett lifted from her, settling her into his arms, one arm strung possessively around her torso, the other resting on her thigh. She sighed and snuggled back into him, kissing the hand resting on her collarbone tiredly.

"I love you," she managed to whisper, before they both succumbed to slumber.


	7. Chapter 7

My Siren

* * *

Elizabeth stretched luxuriously in her bed, the sensuous feel of linen on her bare skin. Her hand reached across the wide expanse of rumpled fabric, reaching for the source of the warmth permeating her limbs. Her hand met empty air; Elizabeth's eyes snapped open. She sat up, looking confusedly around the room for any sign of Beckett. Surely it hadn't been a dream? She laughed quietly, her laugh sardonic, and her heart sank. She had had one of her dreams again.

She heard Isabella's cry as she swung her legs out of bed. And noticed their naked state; but….. she never went to bed unclothed. Her brow creased, as standing up, she groaned at the strained muscles all over her body. She shrugged on her dressing gown, lying discarded at her feet, and suddenly noticed with a racing heart, Beckett's black velvet coat hanging over her chair. She stretched out trembling fingers, caressing the silky material, her breath catching. Her fogged memory rushed back, as she heard the soothing male voice in the other room. She hastily tied the knot of her gown, and rushed into the children's bedroom.

* * *

Beckett stood, haloed by the early morning light, his son in his arms. Elizabeth halted at the sight, a soft motherly smile dawning on her lips. She watched him as he soothed James's early morning cries, noting how easily he slipped into the role of a father. At that moment, she didn't see the ruthless and arrogant Lord Beckett, her mortal enemy, but the man hidden beneath and all he could be.

Beckett suddenly sensed her scrutiny, and looking up he grinned at her, his joyous expression remaining on his face. He replaced James, kissing his forehead, before he straightened and walked to her, pulling her into his arms.

"Good morning my dear," he said against her lips before he took them. She sank against him, revelling in the revelation that the events of the last twelve hours were not a dream. She clung to his shirt, noticing he wasn't wearing his waistcoat as he pulled her forwards. He sat in the armchair in the corner, tumbling her into his lap, and she fell with a gasp. She ran her hands over his chest and neck, taking comfort in the realization that he wasn't a fantasy. As her palm caressed his cheek, he pulled back, cynical amusement shining in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice puzzled. Elizabeth shrugged and looked down, her cheeks burning red in embarrassment.

"Just making sure you're not a dream," she said teasingly, before she kissed him, sighing into his mouth when his hands went around her waist. His lips went to her neck, tipping her head back with his hand, and she gasped, her lips curving gloriously.

"Does this feel like a dream?" he murmured, his tongue gently flicking up and down the column of her throat. Elizabeth had to admit it really didn't. She fingered the silky white hair of his wig, reflecting inwardly that she had never seen what lay beneath it. Somehow, during all their amorous encounters, it had always remained stoically on his head. She was filled with a burning curiosity to see what lay beneath it.

She slipped her fingers beneath it, taking it off slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop her if he wished. He didn't; just sighed, released her throat and leaned back into the chair. She slung it carelessly onto a side table, and looked in wonder at the cropped brown curls under her fingers. She ran her hands through his hair hungrily, her eyes noting the changes in colour, from a dark brown, to a richer almost reddish tone, and then with random streaks of deep gold, slightly like her own. It was like the finest silk beneath her palms. He groaned under her hands, turning his head to catch her palms, planting a searing kiss on them.

"You are going to be the death of me," he moaned, looking up at her with burning blue eyes. He pulled her closer to him, crushing her body against his own.

"I thought we'd already done that one," she gasped lightly, kissing his soft curls teasingly. She felt his hand go around her neck, pulling her down to him for a long, languorous kiss. When he broke it, Elizabeth leaned back to look down in his eyes, her own concerned. His fingers caressed her chin, as a very serious expression flashed over his face.

"Elizabeth…" he began, before a footstep outside the nursery door had them both turning.

* * *

"Oh! Sorry madam, I didn' know you 'ad company," a chubby cheeked maid of fourteen said breathlessly, gaping at the sight of Elizabeth nestled in Beckett's lap, his hands possessively around her waist. Elizabeth reddened, glancing back at Beckett sheepishly.

"Cutler, this is my maid and the children's nurse, Becky. She sleeps downstairs," she explained, suddenly marvelling that Beckett had managed to get past the sharp-eared Becky without her waking. The girl always had been a light sleeper.

Beckett gave her a terse nod, as Elizabeth gestured her in.

"Becky, this is….."

"Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company," he said arrogantly, sadistically enjoying the widening of the girl's eyes in fear. Elizabeth glared at him. "James and Isabella's father," he added for good measure. Elizabeth's eyes flashed even more.

"Oh sir, please excuse me," the maid stammered, curtseying jerkily. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder.

"Becky, you may take the children downstairs. I need to talk with Lord Beckett alone for a moment," she said, through gritted teeth. Beckett watched her, amused by her annoyance. Becky hurriedly collected James and Isabella and rushed down the stairs to the day rooms.

"Something wrong, my dear?" Beckett asked innocently, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You know very well what. Why couldn't you have used a false name?" Elizabeth demanded, still trapped in his lap.

"Why should I do that?" he retorted arrogantly. Elizabeth felt a strong urge to kick him, or hit him or do something violent at that point. Instead, she pursed her lips and looked down on him patronisingly, as one might do with a halfwit child.

"Because no-one around here knows the identity of my children's father, or that he's even alive. They all think I'm a widow, and now you've gone and blown my cover!" she explained heatedly, trying to stand but Beckett's grip holding her still.

"How exactly have I blown your 'cover'," he asked patiently, eying her furious face and pouting lips. How he wanted to kiss her at that moment, but he didn't dare.

"Becky is a good maid, but she is an inveterate gabblemonger! Soon all of Kingston will know I had a strange man in my house, by the name of Lord Beckett, who claims to be the father of my children!" she exploded, struggling to rise just so she could hit him. Or shoot him; the pistol was still on the hall table outside. But he only pulled her closer, pressing her heaving breasts against his partially exposed chest. She narrowed her eyes, ignoring the flutters of sensation from the contact. "Don't even think about trying to seduce me into shutting up!"

"Who said anything about shutting you up?" Beckett asked innocently, "You're exceedingly beautiful when you're angry," and with that, he kissed her full on the mouth, one hand raking through her hair. Elizabeth collapsed against him, all anger gone, all tension in her muscles reduced to jelly. She cursed her susceptibility as she returned the fiery embrace, trapping him into the chair with her thighs. He hauled her closer, crushing all the air from her body. She broke away, desperate to breathe. Beckett's eyes glittered with desire as he stared up at her, panting heavily.

"As I was about to say, before we were interrupted, Elizabeth I must return to Port Royal before sundown. But there's a question I need you to consider first," he whispered, releasing her slightly. He cursed the maid's sudden appearance. He had planned to do this whilst she was sated from their lovemaking, but the opportunity had slipped past. Now he would have to ask whilst she was still simmering from his arrogant disruption of her disguise. He took a deep breath, feeling Elizabeth's stifled groan when he brushed her breasts.

"Elizabeth Swann, will you do me the honour of becoming Lady Beckett?" he asked. Elizabeth froze, her eyes widening.

"You asking me to marry you?" she asked breathlessly, her mind whirling. He nodded silently, the movement jerky, indicative of restrained emotion. She looked down, trying to think with his intoxicating presence so close.

"Elizabeth, as I said, I must return to Port Royal, so you have time to consider this," he said gently, stroking her curls from her face, trying to decipher the morass of emotion in her face. He was relieved that he could see no negative emotion, just uncertainty, surprise and love.

"I don't know, Cutler. We've been fighting for so long, can we really live together without trying to kill each other?" she asked, leaning her head on his forehead.

"I could try," he said jokingly before he sobered, "Elizabeth in society's eyes, we are already married. You gave yourself to me and then bore my children, that's as close as you can get without a wedding ring,"

She still looked uncertain, however. "Elizabeth I love you. Let me sanctify my love; let me give you the protection of my name. Let me take care of you and our children,"

"Haven't you forgotten something, Cutler?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"What? Ahh yes, your pirate past," he drawled, a crooked smile gracing his lips.

"I'm the Pirate King, remember? How are you going to silence the large number of Royal Navy and EITC men who know me as an infamous pirate?" she reminded him, her heart heaving. She wanted desperately to give in, to surrender to the future he wanted to carry her into but something held her back.

"The pirates banished you; you have no loyalty to them now. And no-one would dare to whisper against the wife of the head of the East India Trading Company," he promised solemnly. Elizabeth had to admit he was right. She owed the pirates nothing now; and anyone who had known her before would not dare to speak against her, not with her under the protection of Lord Beckett, particularly as his wife. She bit her lip, averting her eyes.

"I need time to think about this," she whispered. She heard Beckett's sigh.

"Very well. But I need your answer before the end of the week. Come and see me in Port Royal, or send me my ring if your answer is in the negative. I promise I will leave you alone, if you so desire," he told her calmly, yet coldly. Elizabeth felt her heart contract, but she had to hold firm. She needed time to think.

Elizabeth stood, allowing Beckett to stand. He glanced at her, before he snagged his wig, and walked back into the bedroom. Elizabeth knew she didn't like that look. It had just started to rain again, the raindrops pattering against the window panes. Elizabeth stared at them lost in thought…..

* * *

_Six days later, Port Royal, the EITC Offices….._

Lord Beckett sat at his desk, signing and reading various papers by candlelight. He blinked, trying to focus on the cramped script, but his thoughts lingered elsewhere. Elizabeth, damn her, was proving impossible to shift from his mind.

Ever since he had proposed to her, then left her and his children in Kingston, his mind had been taken up by her. He desperately needed her in his life and couldn't understand her reticence to become his. Certainly, there were issues to be sorted, but they would do it together, come what may. With a frustrated sigh, he threw the sheaf of papers down, thrusting his chair back from its position, and stood. He shrugged his coat off, and slipped out of the open balcony doors, breathing the Caribbean night air in gratefully.

The cool breeze bathed his forehead, the sun just beginning to set in a blaze of mango, gold and brilliant red. He leaned over the railing, watching the still bustling activity in the docks below the EITC complex. He smiled reminiscently, his mind transported to another night, another balmy Caribbean evening when Elizabeth Swann had broken into his office, and they had come face to face, or rather pistol to face.

His smile grew strained as he remembered the ensuing events of that night. The night he had discovered the depth of his need for Elizabeth Swann. He had no control when it came to her, and for a man constantly in cool and calm control, the thought was unsettling. The only way his need for her would be assuaged was if she became his. Permanently.

But the shrew was proving difficult, not that he had anticipated her to be completely willing. She was who she was, after all. He snorted gently, before he turned his back and leant against the railing, gazing into the dark shadows of his office. The sea breeze caressed his back, through the lawn of his shirt, easing the tense muscles. Finally he stepped back into the office, leaving the balcony door open behind him.

He paced to his desk, hand settling on a fine, mahogany chest carved with the EITC symbol. He closed his eyes, battling the impulse to simply ride back to Kingston, and back to Elizabeth's arms. She needed to come to him, not the other way around. She had already seen too much of his vulnerability; and that would be the final straw. The shadows lengthened in the office, as the sun set and night fell. The noise from the docks quietened, the light of day replaced by the flickering candles of night. The opera of the cicadas and insects began, filling the night with their discordant music. Beckett sighed, just about to sit back down and finish his work when he heard a light footstep behind him.

He stiffened, listening with all his might. Slowly he turned, drawing his tiny pistol from its pocket, cocking it, ready to shoot.

A figure stood in the shadows, golden skin glimmering, clothed in a wine red satin gown, so intoxicating that Beckett gasped as he recognised the vision in front of him. Elizabeth stood there, watching him piercingly, her long hair piled high, as it had been one summer's day, long ago when she had knelt at the alter without a groom. She looked like a true pirate princess. The red gown was overlaid with black lace, effortlessly drawing attention to the slim body within it, its flawless charms exhibited tastefully. His throat dried; his body stiffened at the sight of her. Slowly she advanced, taking one sure step after another towards him, her eyes unreadable, just as she had once done, in this very office, over a year ago.

* * *

Elizabeth watched him as she walked, taking in his dazed expression, his gaze travelling up and down her body, causing her skin to shiver. His eyes screamed desire; and the very thought of what had once occurred in this office had her aching with desire too. She halted, checking her decision one last time. After long hours of thought, after he had left her, she had sat beside her children, gazing long at them. They needed him; she needed him, and damn her past. She would not allow the ghosts of her past to rule her future. And then, having decided to come back to Port Royal, she had discovered he was due to sail to India, to oversee the fight against piracy there. And that fact had only made her own decision more important. She could not lose him again.

"Elizabeth…..?" his tone was questioning, hoarse with lust.

"I thought this might be the best setting. To tell you my decision," she replied, her voice suggestively husky. She felt his gaze on her gown, the satin hugging her curves lovingly. She knew she looked good; her old governess's gasp of delight had told her that.

"Yes?" Beckett recovered enough to say, trying his hardest to ignore the damned dress. In it she looked more like a siren than ever; a tempting vision to lure men to the rocks. She stretched out one hand, to gently trace the contours of his cheek before her tender expression changed and she slapped him. Hard.

"That was for not telling me you were going to India next week," she explained calmly, her fierce expression fading. His surprise and anger burned in his eyes, despite the calmness of his face. Elizabeth took a deep breath, willing her courage to remain. "Even so, I lost you once. I can't lose you again so my answer is….yes,"

Beckett's face didn't change, but his eyes flickered. She watched the anger fade, to be replaced by triumph, then burning passion seeped in, making her shudder.

"You will marry me?" he asked, his mind slightly incredulous.

"Yes, I will marry you, you arrogant, pompous…." she whispered, stepping closer, tears of joy springing from her eyes. He reached out and hauled her into his arms, interrupting her words, the wild beast within roaring in triumph. She was his, forever. His siren.

He kissed her desperately, lips passionately devouring her own, his hands raking through her hair. He turned her roughly, driving her back towards the desk. She felt the hard mahogany dig into her back, until he swept his hands down, and lifted her onto the desk. She pressed closer, grabbing his shoulders for balance. He wrenched his lips from hers, picking a burning trail of searing kisses down her neck and collarbone, tongue rasping against her perfumed skin. She gasped, her eyes rolling back into her head, her neck arching. Suddenly he drew back, leaving Elizabeth gasping for air and for him, reaching for him entreatingly. He eluded her grasp, standing back and breathing harshly.

"Cutler, please," she pleaded, slipping off the desk. He held her back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

"Wait, wait Elizabeth. I must do this properly," he said huskily. He reached for her hand, slipping the gold ring bearing the EITC crest from her finger. She stared at him; her mind befuddled by passion and need. She found she had grown used to the heavy weight of his ring on her finger. He walked around the desk, replacing the ring on his finger before opening a drawer and removing a small, velvet lined box. Elizabeth's eyes narrowed; was that what she thought it was?

Beckett clutched her hand and drew her to stand beside the crackling fireplace. Still dazed, Elizabeth's eyes widened as Beckett did the one thing she never thought he would. He went down on his knees.

Opening the box, Elizabeth gasped at the beautiful betrothal ring inside. Diamonds surrounded by pearls in a gold setting. He slipped it onto her ring finger, kissing it like a knight might kiss his queen's hand in fealty. She gazed down at him, the light from the fire dancing on his burgundy waistcoat, glinting off her golden hair.

"You like it?" he whispered, his passion barely reigned in.

"Yes," she whispered back.

"Good because it's going to be on your finger for a very long time," his lips curved in an arrogant smile. His hands went around her waist, pulling her down to him as he took her mouth savagely, desperately hungry after a week away from her. She eagerly returned the passionate embrace, as he tumbled her back.

* * *

She landed beside the fireplace, her dishevelled hair spilling over the marble hearth and crimson rug, the fire gilding her sinuous hair. She felt Beckett's hands at the opening of her bodice, ripping the expensive silk apart, pulling her dress down frantically to bare her to his gaze. She arched, offering herself to him, all vestige of conscious thought erased by their joint hunger.

His lips traced a searing path down her neck, hands under her waist, lifting her up against him. She tilted her head back against the floor, as he devoured the skin of her collarbone, tongue driving her demented. Her cry was eloquent of frantic desire, as his mouth skimmed the swollen skin of her breasts, tugging and licking at the flushed silken flesh. Opening her eyes, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel how familiar the situation was.

"Déjà vu," she muttered, gritting her teeth as he moved lower, to the skin of her abdomen, drawing the satin gown down in an agonizingly slow sensual torture. Beckett looked up at her through passion-glazed, stormy eyes, filled with need.

"You're telling me," he growled. "The memories of that bloody night were engraved on my brain for weeks,"

Elizabeth merely smirked teasingly, running her calf up his leg, kicking her shoes off. Beckett suddenly surged over her, trapping her eyes in his.

"Where are James and Isabella?" he asked, paternal instincts kicking in, curious to know their whereabouts before he gave into the driving passion locking his muscles.

"With my old governess. I gave up the house in Kingston yesterday," she sighed, before she grabbed him in a kiss so incendiary Beckett had no chance of retaining control. He had none, not when it came to her.

Her hands ripped off his waistcoat and opened his shirt, running her palms feverishly down the stony muscles, tangling in the brown hair. She shifted against him, against the hardness trapped against her abdomen, desperate to feel him within her. To consummate their betrothal. He growled in the back of his throat, before his hand drifted down, and flicked her skirts up.

Speech was beyond him now as he took her mouth, storming her senses with a rain of passion and intense need for fulfilment. Beckett reflected dazedly they wouldn't even make it to a bed this time. She clutched his back, urgently running her tongue alongside his, duelling heatedly. His finger dipped into her body, preparing her for his possession, making her arch wildly, her lips still locked to his. She fiddled with the buttons of his waistband, and then he withdrew his fingers from her body, as he surged in, possessing her body and soul. Elizabeth desperately clung to him, her bare torso against his as he claimed her for his, once and for all.

A short while later, the two entwined figures collapsed, exhausted, their passion sated as the coals of the fire burnt down; the chirping song of the cicadas mixing with the scent of lust and brandy on the balmy Caribbean air.


	8. Chapter 8

My Siren

* * *

_HMS Endeavour_

Elizabeth smiled softly as she stood at the railing of the newly rebuilt quarterdeck of the HMS _Endeavour_, staring out to sea. The horizon was like a gold-edged painting, the sun just beginning to peek above a bank of iron-grey cloud on the stuffy air. The sun's rays glinted off her streaming golden hair; the pearl and diamond ring on her finger beside the wedding ring above it; yet the summery rays also glinted off the metal of a gold-inlaid hilt at her waist. She glanced down at the rings, then at her sword and her smile turned wry. She knew her new husband would frown in a very disapproving manner should he see her attire. So she supposed it was a good thing she had left him completely exhausted in their cabin below.

Elizabeth was dressed unconventionally in a long black skirt, white shirt and gold-trimmed black silken waistcoat, very similar to her husband's favourite attire. The entire outfit was distinctly practical, allowing her ease of movement on the ship, unlike the corseted satin gowns of her youth. The very memory of them made her shudder. A thought drifted across her mind.

"_You like pain? Try wearing a corset!"_

She smirked at the memory, leaning forward over the railing, staring into the emerald depths below. They were four weeks out on a voyage to India, for Lord Beckett to take up his latest posting, Elizabeth by his side. She had point blank refused to remain in Port Royal without him, not even for their eight-month old twins, James and Isabella. Their argument had raged for three days before Beckett had grudgingly capitulated; after Elizabeth had threatened to find her own way to India, even if it meant travelling as a pirate.

The price she'd had to pay to assuage his protective and possessive needs still had Elizabeth shivering with remembered desire every time she recalled it. She looked up to the sky, eyes closing in bliss at the breeze on her forehead. Her gaze once again fell on her wedding ring, as she remembered that it had been over a year since she and Cutler had first met, on her ruined first wedding to William Turner.

* * *

And as horrible as that day had been, it had changed so much. Her mind went back, travelling to a small storm-washed chapel overlooking the sea, several EITC ships floating in the harbour, shrouded by the rain cloud…..

_Elizabeth Swann knelt on the cold, flagged stones of the chapel, her golden wedding gown drenched by the tropical storm hurrying in from the sea. Her snarled hair hung about her shoulders, dripping diamond raindrops onto the gold satin of her gown. She held her bouquet of white roses loosely, her eyes staring vacantly into space, despair clouding her mind. _

_With a crash of thunder, she heard the sound of marching feet behind her, and she turned to see a short, although imposing man watching her piercingly from the crowd of wedding guests; a small company of marines escorted a sodden and shackled Will up the steps, she rose to her feet, dropping her bouquet negligently. As she neared, the man's eyes focussed even more deliberately upon her but she paid him little heed, rushing straight past him to reach Will. It was only when she had been suddenly seized by the naval officers and marines surrounding them, that she had taken any notice of the man. _

_Lord Beckett, someone from her father's past. _

_As she was shackled, she stared at the richly dressed figure in front of her, arrogance and self-confidence exuding from him like an overpowering fragrance. Her gaze travelled down, from the tightly curled white wig, down to his strong forehead and to his eyes. They entrapped hers; cold blue orbs of the purest sapphire, merciless and calculating. When they had released hers to speak to her father, she had continued her perusal, her skin flushing by the second, although she had thought it from anger. He was dressed in a black ensemble, with gold embroidery over much of the waistcoat. _

_The whole effect was quite dramatic, and to the finest taste. The fact the rain had made sure the material clung to his moderately muscled body, and slim frame certainly brought no black marks against him. But she shook these thoughts away, pride stung by the fact he had ruined her wedding and now proceeded to arrest her and Will without even giving them cause. But as she spoke up, anger and domineering pride showing in her tone, his eyes flicked back to hers, enthralling them further, despite the anger coursing through Elizabeth's veins. _

_She felt a warm flush rise over her skin, so similar to her ire that she couldn't tell the difference, were it not for the sensation of her muscles weakening to jelly. Her lips parted, as she accosted him once more, correcting him over Jack Sparrow's title. Those blue eyes made her feel like she was pinned to the floor beneath him, his to do with as he pleased. But Elizabeth had never liked being intimidated, so she raised her chin, staring him down defiantly as she and Will were dragged away._

* * *

So much _**had **_changed. She had ended up forsaking Will entirely, giving herself to a man she barely knew and thought she despised, then fallen in love with him, and given birth to his children. Her world had been turned upside down by him, her comfortable if mundane existence as the governor's daughter completely eradicated. She had become the infamous Elizabeth Swann, Pirate King and known associate of the nefarious captains Jack Sparrow, and Hector Barbossa.

Now she was Lady Beckett, mother of twins and wife to the head of the EITC.

_Talk about sleeping with the enemy_, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes. But she didn't regret her fate one bit.

Not when she was finally with the man she loved, forever bound to him, even if he was an arrogant, rigidly backwards-thinking, ruthless tyrant. His displeasure about her practical attire had been yet another point of contention between them, one she had refused to let him win. She had made concessions, bringing some more feminine attire to India, along with the dreaded corsets, but had put her foot down over her daywear.

She had argued that her clothing was far more suitable, especially if they were attacked by pirates en route, a real threat seeing as the EITC and the pirate armada hadn't been able to completely annihilate each other, so at least she could hold her own with impunity from tripping over her skirts.

The memories of their last argument, and its aftermath, warmed her skin, sending a red flush of desire down her body. She bit her lip, hands clenching on the mahogany railing. It was still early morning; her husband wouldn't even be awake yet, after their nightly coupling. She shuddered at the memories, at the ripples he could still send down her spine with just one word, just one touch. Speaking of which….

* * *

Warm hands suddenly slid around her waist, pulling her back against a familiar chest, arms instantly caging her in a comfortable prison. She relaxed into their warmth, recognising her captor instantly. Lips brushed her ear, as his seductive voice, deep and still husky from sleep came from behind her.

"Good morning, my Lady Elizabeth," Beckett leaned his chin on Elizabeth's soft hair, revelling in the supple body nestled yieldingly in his arms. He would never tell her, but he loved the way her hair fell wildly over her shoulders, the way her skirt and waistcoat melded to her still slender figure, even after childbirth. Her hands slid over his where they lay on her waist, cradling the backs as he drew one of them up, running hard fingers over her linen covered breast.

"Good morning, my lord," she replied breathlessly, sinking even further into him. She glanced around; the quarterdeck was still deserted. "I didn't expect you up so early."

"You mean after our exertions last night? Please Elizabeth allow me a little credit," he snorted into her neck, his arrogant drawl very evident, as he lifted the curtain of silken gold aside, to run his lips desirously over the vulnerable flesh. She shuddered, her lids falling, her spine arching. She often cursed how susceptible she was to his touch, wished she was stronger, but one look from those sapphire eyes was enough to have her yielding to him in a moment. She dazedly refocused on his words, as Beckett spoke again, fingers lazily running a possessive trail over her breast. "Have you checked on James and Isabella this morning?"

"Of course," Elizabeth struggled not to make her tone scornful. As if she would forget to check on her own son and daughter! "They were sound asleep. The nurse is still with them,"

"Now, now no need for that tone," he said again, his drawl becoming even more pronounced as he turned her around, pushing her forcefully back against the railing. No matter how they tried, they always ended up fighting over something. Not that they cared; in fact they rather enjoyed it.

Elizabeth twined her arms around his neck, bringing her face closer to Beckett's as he traced the contours of her lips, desire sparking in those omnipotent eyes. They broke from hers for a moment, to scan the horizon.

"Maybe you should return to our cabin, my lady. We wouldn't want any pirates seeing their king in the arms of their enemy, now would we?" he said teasingly, brushing his lips over hers. She followed the torturous caress, glaring at him until the suggestiveness behind the statement made it through her already desire-fogged brain. She bit her lip, pulling on the swollen skin seductively, as she noted the movement of his Adam's apple when he swallowed. She grinned against his lips.

"Persuade me," she whispered, mischief sparking in her lustful eyes. Beckett grabbed her in a languorous kiss, lips moving possessively against hers. She fought back, attacking his mouth aggressively with her tongue, drawing him in like a fish on a hook. She pulled herself flush against him, moving sensuously in canon with her lips and tongue. He pulled back with a sucked-in breath, raggedly trying to breathe whilst pressed against her.

"That's not very ladylike behaviour, Elizabeth. Particularly not in public," he remarked, with a quirk of his brow. It never stopped fascinating him how delightfully provocative she could be.

"What, you mean like this?" she suddenly ran her hand down the front of his silk coat, feeling the shudder run through him with a triumphant smirk. One look at his set face almost made her burst into laughter. "Then perhaps we should continue our discussion later, in private," she placed as much sensual weight as she was able to in those last words, provokingly stroking her fingers across the hardness pressing against her hip before she drew away, slipping from his lax grip like a snake through water. She glanced over her shoulder, to ensure he was following, one eyebrow raised licentiously, calling him back to their bed, her hand trailing down the banister of the stairs beckoningly.

Beckett watched her go, lust burning through his body, a smirk on his lips. He was drawn back a year, to his first memory of her. Even then Elizabeth's beauty had intoxicated him, rendering him powerless, although it hadn't stopped him from arresting her and her fiancé.

It had been her sheer audacity and refusal to be intimidated that had drawn his interest. No other woman had ever spoken so boldly and as commandingly as she had on that day…..

_Beckett rested his boot on the step of the chapel, gazing at the woman kneeling at the altar, soaked to the skin by the rain, her golden wedding gown clinging to her curves where it was so sodden. _

_As he heard the tramp of boots behind him, he saw her turn her head, glancing over her shoulder with a proud albeit despairing look in her haunting brown eyes. Those eyes which dismissed him, wholeheartedly devoted to the man being marched in shackles to their position. _

_A devotion Beckett had found, surprisingly, that he coveted for himself. _

_The feel of her rushing past to get to the Turner boy had penetrated through his heavy black greatcoat, showers of water droplets from her hair hitting his face, sending ripples of sensation shuddering through his body. He had been further entranced by the look of proud fury she had bent upon him, her words coldly calm despite the ire setting her eyes alight. _

_The total lack of fear in her face, and indeed the open appraisal with which she had graced him had sent shivers down his spine, as she had been dragged away. A look which had haunted him, right up until the moment she had confronted him in his office. And they had discovered their mutual desire and need for the other…._

* * *

Beckett snapped back to reality as Elizabeth made an impatient sound in her throat, snatched his hand and pulled him through the door of their cabin. Immediately he retook control, slamming her back against the door when it shut, taking her mouth vengefully.

She levered herself up in his arms, working breathlessly at the buttons on his coat, yanking it off his shoulders impatiently. He shrugged the coat off, throwing it onto his desk chair, before he lifted her into his arms, carrying her through the Charting room into their sleeping quarters. He almost threw her down on the bed, before pressing his body down onto hers, barely feeling her hands on his chest, yearning, imploring through the haze of fiery desire she and only she could evoke. He ripped away from her mouth, to trail a series of heady caresses down her neck, pulling the halves of her shirt apart worshipfully, teasing the heating skin.

He rolled his hips against hers mercilessly, compared to the gentle tug of his lips on her collarbone, eliciting stifled moans and gasps which had Beckett smirking into her neck, careful to avoid showing her his face. The minx would just turn difficult if she could see his knowing look. But she suddenly shifted against him, legs wrapping around his, urging him to move faster.

He obliged, stripping her waistcoat from her, throwing it across the room, hands already tracing and fondling beneath the flimsy material of her shirt. Their lips rejoined, as she arched, tilting her head back, forcing him to deepen the kiss to maintain the contact. The haze of desire turned into an impenetrable fog, shutting everything out. Well almost everything….

* * *

"Lord Beckett?" with that call there came a knock at the main door of the Charting room, causing Elizabeth and Beckett to still, hoping it would go away. "My lord?"

Beckett groaned, rolling his eyes as he went to lift himself off of Elizabeth. He recognised the reedy voice now: his new aide Harrington. God he missed Mercer sometimes. Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbow, her shirt hanging loose, revealing the creamily tempting swell of one shoulder and her neck, as she caught his eye, fathoming his thinking instantly.

"Don't look at me like that, I didn't kill Mercer," she hissed, a wicked smile on her face. As another knock came, along with the sound of tentative footsteps in the next cabin, Elizabeth rolled her eyes derisively.

"Can't you just tell him to go away?" her voice accidentally slipped into a whiny tone, despite her best efforts. Beckett's eyes snapped back to her from their position at the door, his smirk growing by the minute. How he loved his wife's utter need for him!

"I'm afraid not, sweetheart. It's just business," he said, stooping to kiss her brow, cradling her head with his hand. She fell back, arching seductively under his gaze, yearning sounding in her voice.

"It's not very gentlemanly to leave a lady wanting, you know," she said suggestively. A second later she cursed her misstep, her foolish weakness. Even though they were now married, she knew better than to expose any kind of weakness in front of him, or God forbid, to him. Like she had just done. Elizabeth, you idiot, she thought as he bent towards her, lips brushing across her own. He tipped her head back, running his lips lightly down her neck and the exposed area of her collarbone, chuckling slightly.

"I'm leaving you wanting, am I?" he asked in a dangerous tone, one hand pulling her hair painfully, so her neck was even more exposed to his caresses. Elizabeth decided not to answer. "Well that won't do. As a gentleman, I have no intention of leaving you wanting, my Elizabeth," he smirked, kissing his way back up her neck, tongue rasping over her skin.

She shuddered, biting her lip. He reached her mouth, and forced her to look at him. "Just not yet," he finished firmly, touching his lips to hers in an achingly incomplete kiss. He straightened, and walked out of the door without another word. Elizabeth collapsed back into the bed with a smothered, frustrated sigh, her body racked with tremors from his devilish kiss.

* * *

"Lady Beckett?" at the small knock on their bedroom door, Elizabeth sat up, hurriedly doing her shirt back up and retrieving her waistcoat.

"Yes?" she called, opening the door to find the children's nurse, Lily carrying her two small children in her matronly arms.

"Mamma!" at the simultaneous, childish lisps Elizabeth smiled, all her chagrin at her husband forgotten as she scooped them into her arms, hugging them close.

"Good morning, my little ones. Did you sleep well?" she asked, tucking Isabella's riotous curls behind her ear, resting her hand on James's cheek. As her children talked loudly about their doings, she sat them down on the bed, relieving her arms of their weight. She had lost a little strength since her marriage, as she could no longer practice her swordsmanship quite as well as before.

The twins, James and Isabella, were now a year old and started walking and talking with greater fluency. Elizabeth's lips quirked when she remembered the first time James had called Beckett 'Papa'. The memory of his tender expression, that bright smile warmed her. It had become her goal to bring his elusive softer side out more often, although just in private between them. She knew he needed his cold, business-like demeanour to function in his world of schemes and high-risk political games.

"Mamma? When we getting to In-da?" James's quiet question brought Elizabeth back to the present, noting his inability to correctly pronounce 'India'. It always made her smile.

"Another few weeks, James. Not long, then we'll be in India with the elephants and the tigers," she told him coaxingly, heart swelling at the sight of James's cherubic countenance perking up at the mere thought of tigers and elephants. Isabella fidgeted in her mother's arms, her speech still a little less advanced than her brother's.

"What if Papa get gobbled up by a tigy?" she asked, her blue eyes round and fearful, with a slight hint of curiosity. Elizabeth opened her mouth to sooth her childish fears, when her husband's deep drawl came from behind them.

"Then your mother will just have to save me," he replied teasingly, walking forward to run his hand over Elizabeth's loose curls, before he picked Isabella up, to her delight. Isabella loved all the attention she got from her father. She could wrap him around her little finger.

Elizabeth's smile grew at her children's ecstatic greeting of their father, James catching hold of his hand in a soft grip. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him, her earlier frustration coming back.

"I thought you had to work," she remarked pointedly, standing up to lift James to his eye level. He looked at her coolly, until one corner of his lips quirked devilishly, as he leaned over and kissed her quickly on the lips, melting her frostiness in an instant. Isabella was played with the satin ribbon of his wig, tangling her fingers in the curl of the tail. Beckett sighed exasperatedly, before he broke from Elizabeth and gently disengaged Isabella's fingers from the hair of his wig. She glared petulantly at her father, before switching to plucking at the gold lining of his burgundy coat. Beckett smirked wearily, giving up.

* * *

In the pause, Elizabeth glanced behind them to see Harrington still at the door, a sheaf of papers in his hand, watching the little family scene dispassionately. No doubt he thought his master ought to be devoting his time to other, more urgent matters. Not that Beckett ever listened to the hired help.

"Papa, I can walk with not falling over anymore," Isabella piped up cheerily, her bell clear voice piercing through Elizabeth's cynical perusal of her husband's new manservant. Her eyes snapped back to her daughter, as Beckett stood her on her feet. Elizabeth handed James back to the nurse, noting her son's return to slumber, no doubt from boredom, and knelt down, holding her arms open to her daughter.

"Can you, Bella? Well show me then. Walk to your mama," he commanded. Elizabeth watched, entranced, as Isabella stumbled in an almost drunken manner across the cabin floor, slipping and swaying with the ship's movement. She fell forward into her mother's arms, Elizabeth picking her up and swinging her around, Isabella laughing joyously, her little skirts flying like a pennant.

Beckett watched his young wife, and the glow of motherly love in her face as she played with their daughter. He took his son from the nurse, cradling him in his arms as he strode forward to meet his wife. He could feel the eyes of his aide on his back, summoning him back to work, but he resisted. Not in this precious moment with his family. He supported James in one arm, as he put the other around his wife, kissing her soft curls gently.

"Well done, little Bella. Won't be long before you catch up with your brother," he told Isabella, ruffling her curly head affectionately.

"She shan't!" came from beside him, James obviously waking from his nap enough to sound peeved that they compare Isabella to him. So like his mother. Elizabeth smiled at him, her grin pulling at his heartstrings until her gaze went over his shoulder.

"You should return to work," she pushed him, taking James from his arms. The nurse relieved her of her twin burden, Elizabeth watching her children go with a motherly reluctance to let anyone else settle her babies.

"I'll be along to read to them in a moment," she called eventually, already preparing to walk after them, were it not for Beckett's hand around her wrist, pulling her back to him. Unselfconsciously, he pulled her lips to his, kissing her soundly in front of his waiting henchman, cradling her face in his hands. She sank against him, eagerly returning the embrace before he broke it, pausing only to kiss the exposed skin of her wrist in a searing caress before he left her. Inwardly trembling with anticipation, she hurried after her children without a backwards glance.

* * *

Later on the quarter deck, Elizabeth stared out at the sun, as it began its leisurely descent to its bed, her mind a million miles away. She had played with her children for hours, brushing Isabella's hair and satisfying James's cravings for adventure in the form of stories. Finally they had succumbed to the lulling movement of the ship on the waves, falling into a sleep to the sound of their mother's voice singing forbidden songs. Songs about pirates and treasure; plunder and pillaging. About daring swordsmen and cunning captains, and Brethren courts and desert islands filled with gold.

Elizabeth sometimes still dreamt about her pirate life, remembering the thrill of the fight, the twinge of nostalgia for the days of yore. She still had her old sword from the Singaporean armouries on the _Empress_, now so long ago. That ship had been destroyed, its crew annihilated in the final battle, pulled down to Davy Jones' Locker. Her contemplations were interrupted by a hand sliding down her arm, all the way to her wrist, settling there possessively. She looked up and around to find Beckett standing behind her, cradling her in his arms. He searched her face worriedly.

"Elizabeth are you alright? You seem a million miles away," he said, his tone gruffly tender, since they were all but alone on the deck, the sailors on the main deck and around the mizzenmast too busy to notice them. She smiled noncommittally, knowing she wouldn't keep her thoughts secret for long.

"I was. A million miles in the past," she whispered, nestling into his arms. His fingers caressed hers, lingering on the wedding band gracing her ring finger. "It feels good to be back at sea again,"

"Undoubtedly. Do you fear meeting any pirates?" he asked. She had always loved the sea, always loved its freedom and wildness, as harsh and untameable as herself.

"No not really. I made my choice a long time ago. And its not one I would revoke for the world, and all the Seven Seas," she said, twisting in his arms to face him. She kissed him deeply, putting all her soul into the embrace, holding nothing back. He clutched her waist, rising to her siren's call when a shout came from behind them.

"Ship ahoy!"

Elizabeth and Beckett turned simultaneously, breaking from each other's lips, eyes scanning the horizon. On the very edge, a black smudge had appeared, growing slightly larger with each passing moment. Beckett snapped his eyeglass out, Lieutenant Groves rushing up the stairs to join the couple as they looked for their enemy.

"Colours?" Groves called to the crow's nest, worry showing in his otherwise calm visage.

"It's not flyin' none, sir!" the sailor called. With a snap, Becket closed his eyeglass before he turned to Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth I want you to go to the children's cabin, now," he ordered her, already ushering her off the deck. But Elizabeth stood firm, eyes fixed on the ship approaching.

"Pirates," she breathed, hand going to her sword hilt. "And if you think I'm going anywhere, Cutler Beckett, you have another thing coming. Namely a sword through your gut, if you think I'm just going to abandon my husband like some mindless ninny," she continued, twisting from his grip. Fire danced in her eyes, prepared for battle, as she turned back to the railing. Beckett stared at her incredulously, as Groves sent him a nonplussed look

"Any identification?" Groves called, taking Beckett's eyeglass. He suddenly sucked in a breath, eyes wide, as he turned back to Beckett. "It's the _Pearl_, sir!"

Elizabeth felt her breath catch, her hands fisting as she scrutinized the ship sailing proudly towards them. Was Jack mad, to be attacking an EITC ship, one as heavily gunned and well-protected as the new _Endeavour_?

"Elizabeth please, go below and look after our children. This is no place for you," Beckett tried to say persuasively. But Elizabeth merely turned flaming eyes on him, refusing to budge from his side.

"I'm not going anywhere, Cutler. I made my choice a long time ago and I'm never going to leave you," she whispered, kissing him suddenly quick and hard on the lips. Beckett sighed exasperatedly, before they turned as one, to meet the _Pearl _sailing majestically towards them, the ensign on the East India Trading Company flying behind them.

* * *

_The Black Pearl_

Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the Pearl, Barbossa behind him as they advanced on the EITC ship, predatorial smiles on their faces. Jack snapped out his eyeglass, deciding to take a look at its inhabitants before they blew them to pieces. What he saw made his breath catch.

Elizabeth Swann, hale and whole, stood entwined with Lord Cutler Beckett, the flag of the EITC waving in the breeze behind them. He felt winded as he took the sight in, his sharp eyes noting the flash of gold on her ring finger. So she married the bastard after all, he thought grimly. Hang on, I thought he was dead. Jack was barely aware his mouth had dropped open.

"What be the problem, Jack?" Barbossa asked impatiently, Jack the monkey perched casually on his shoulder.

"Take a look for yerself," Jack proffered the eyeglass, a nauseated expression on his visage. Barbossa, concerned, took the eyeglass.

"But e's supposed ta be dead! An' so is she!" he exploded, rage infusing his weather-beaten face.

"Aye, that be true. We're in trouble!" Jack agreed grimly, as they sailed inexorably on towards the new _Endeavour_.


	9. Chapter 9

My Siren

* * *

_HMS Endeavour_

Elizabeth ducked behind a gunwale as yet another cannonball pounded into the hull. She winced, pulling her sword from its sheath in preparation for an attack. The pirates hadn't yet come aboard, merely bombarding their ship. Not that the new _Endeavour_ was taking it lying down; the _Pearl_ was in pretty bad shape. In the chaos and confusion, Elizabeth glimpsed her husband striding about giving orders. She couldn't suppress a wry smile; even in the midst of chaos and impending oblivion, he had to be the one in charge.

She straightened from her painful position behind the gunwale, eyes searching for the _Black Pearl_. She lay off their starboard bow, a bustle of activity, taking and returning fire. Elizabeth couldn't see Jack or Barbossa, but she knew they were aboard. The very thought made her blood boil. Her children were below, no doubt terrified, and she couldn't let anything happen to them. She shuddered to think what might happen if Barbossa discovered her children. He'd already tried to kill them once. Elizabeth shuddered at the long repressed memory.

Suddenly a shout erupted as pirates began swinging over from the _Pearl_, bearing muskets and cutlasses. The crew of _Endeavour_, all experienced seamen and marines, instantly swung into battle. Elizabeth even glimpsed Beckett wielding a sword against a particularly scurvy pirate, as thin as a skeleton. Ragetti, she realised with a lurch of her heart. But her husband seemed to be holding his own.

Turning, she found a pirate advancing on her, grinning lustily. She smirked at him, swinging her blade with as much force as she was able. The pirate's leer turned into a snarl as he blocked and came back with his own attack. Elizabeth parried the overhead blow; and riposted, falling back into the rhythm of the fight like a well known dance. She was barely aware of the battle raging around her; so immersed was she in the duel. She and the pirate twirled and spun around each other, searching for a way past the other's defences. But they found none. With a feint to her left, the pirate swung to the right and almost took her head off. Elizabeth caught the hilt of his cutlass with her sword, and twisted, flicking the blade high into the air. It landed in the boards, shuddering with a metallic quiver. Elizabeth would have grinned, were it not for the loaded pistol centred in between her eyes.

"Say goodbye," he smirked, boorishly. Elizabeth scowled at the cheat. Pirates!

As the trigger creaked back, she closed her eyes, sure she was about to die. But then a voice came from behind the pirate, powerful and dark, filled with restrained fury.

"Goodbye," it said, as the point of a sword pierced through the pirate's chest. The pistol fell from the nerveless hand, as the pirate's corpse fell to the floor with a thud. Elizabeth opened her eyes to find her husband standing in front of her, his expression dangerous. His blue eyes glinted with an inner fire, fury and protective possessiveness screaming in the sapphire orbs. Elizabeth felt the deep clench in her stomach, one part fear, and three parts riotous desire. She was going to get it later, if they survived. He gripped her shoulder, almost glaring at her intensely.

"Elizabeth…."

But whatever he thought to say was wiped from his lips, replaced with a snarl as another pirate attacked him from behind, and Elizabeth swung into action. Beckett was soon occupied by another pirate, as they weaved around each other.

The pirate Elizabeth was fighting was so mediocre, she found herself watching her husband warily out of the corner of her eye. He was so graceful, so sure in his movements, moving seamlessly from one attack to another, from a parry to a riposte. He might even have been a finer swordsman than Will or Jack. The revelation surprised her, although she didn't know why. His work in the Company couldn't all have been signing death warrants and sipping tea. But she was pulled back into her duel as her opponent seemed to step up his attack. She lunged and parried desperately, tiring quickly. He was less skilled than she, but he was wearing her down.

If she survived this, she really needed to get back into shape.

She puffed and panted, her skirts slowing her down, tiring her further when finally she found her opening. His sword feinted to her right, and she went to the left, hoping she had read him aright. She caught his cutlass in a lock, yanking it from his hands. The pirate fell back with a strangled yelp, blood leaking from a wound on his hand. He took one look at the fire in Elizabeth's eyes and turned tail. She watched him go with a feeling of cynical amusement. A hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, and she cursed her inattention, they were in the middle of a battle for goodness sake.

She whirled, bringing her sword down in a sweep, about to cleave her attacker's head in two. Her blade met steel as she met the eyes of her assailant. She breathed out in relief. It had just been her husband. His eyes spat blue flames as he yanked her sword arm down, winding his spare arm around her waist, pulling her into the relative safety of the space beneath the aft deck stairs.

"Elizabeth you need to get out of here! Get below and stay there!" He ordered, shouting above the howl of cannon fire and the screams of dying men. Elizabeth shook her head, about to reply, when he desperately kissed her refusal from her lips.

"No, no arguing just get below!" he shouted again, when he deigned to release her, the cold metal of his sword pressing into her back. Beckett held her tightly against his body, braced against the walls of the cabin. "Please Elizabeth!" he shouted, almost pleading. He grabbed her in an almost angry kiss, not wanting to let her go. But she would be safer below decks, he was sure of it.

Elizabeth could barely think through the morass of painful passion he was enfolding her in, temporarily sheltered as they were. But he was right; if, God forbid, Barbossa discovered the twins, they would need her there. She could be of better use below deck. But she didn't want to leave her husband, accomplished though he might be.

"Elizabeth, please," Beckett said pleadingly against her lips. He could see her thoughts all too clearly in her eyes. "I will join you as soon as I can,"

Elizabeth stared into her husband's eyes, searching for that clouding of the iris which indicated to the experienced eye that he was lying. Her own widened.

"You're lying," it was like Norrington all over again, except this time it truly was both their lives on the line. If he was killed, she would never forgive herself for abandoning him, and her life would end. Not even James and Isabella would save her. His eyes filled with exasperation as he kissed her again, pushing her back against the wall of the hull as another cannon ripped into the wall beside them.

Elizabeth was becoming too light-headed to think straight; a fact her husband, damn him, knew too well and exploited too much. She clung to him, hands slipping into his dishevelled hair, beneath the wig as he seduced her into submission. Finally he broke from her lips, one hand cradling her beloved face.

"Please," he pleaded one last time, letting her see the vulnerability in his eyes, "James and Isabella need you, Elizabeth. They need their mother. Please I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to you,"

"Oh because it's so much safer below deck," she grumbled sarcastically, already giving in to his plea, heart softening at the naked emotion shining in his usually guarded eyes. He growled deep in his throat warningly. She rolled her eyes, then nodded once. He kissed her again in relief, hands desperately hauling her closer, pressing every inch of her lithe body into his for one moment, before he released her.

"Go, go," he urged, pushing her towards the hatch. She paused for a moment, then ran into the melee, ducking and swerving around duelling opponents. Beckett watched her with a heaving heart; moving out of the shadows of the stairs into the fight once more. Once she was safely through the hatch, he turned and threw himself back into the fight. Parrying one blow, he twirled to discover another sword flashing down upon him. He blocked it, pushing the attacking blade away, as he met the murderously glinting eyes of Hector Barbossa.

* * *

Elizabeth ran through the corridors of the ship, racing to reach her children's cabin. Up above, the sounds and lessening cannon fire seemed to indicate that the pirates were losing and trying to escape. Elizabeth found she felt nothing towards them; not regret, nor betrayal, nor guilt. She only felt black fear and concern for her family. And for her husband; she knew he would be the main target for any sharpshooters. Her mind filled with nightmarish images of him slumping to the deck, blood leaking from a bullet wound in his chest, a sickly flower of scarlet blooming on the brocade of his waistcoat.

She shook them aside, aware only of the need to reach her children, and to reassure them. Suddenly she heard sprinting footsteps behind her, and she turned half hoping to see Beckett come around the corner. But it wasn't Beckett. It was Jack Sparrow.

"Jack!" she gasped, her sword wavering before she brought it up. Jack skidded to a halt, dreadlocks flying, as he took in Elizabeth's appearance.

"Bloody 'ell, Elizabeth! It's been a long time, eh?" He grinned conversationally, his gold teeth glinting as he looked her up and down.

"Jack," she inclined her head, keeping herself between the door to her children's cabin and Jack, watching his every move like a hawk.

"So….yer married the bugger after all. S'pose its Lady Beckett now, eh?" Jack continued, eyes lingering on her wedding and betrothal rings. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes coldly.

"You assume correctly," she replied, keeping her blade centred on his chest. Jack eyed it narrowly.

"Aww come on Lizzie. There's no need for tha',"

"Let me see, you fired on the ship commanded by the man I love; collaborated in a plot to force me into miscarriage and now you're still trying to kill me and my husband," she listed, eyebrows drawn down into a scowl.

"Let's examine that claim shall we? Firstly, your bonny husband tried to kill me first, and you as well, if you'll recall. As for tha' incident wit yer pregnancy; yer know it was Barbossa who came up with tha' one. If it weren' for me an' Gibbs, you woulda died along with yer baby. And as for righ' now, well we didn't know you or Beckett were aboard. Me an' Barbossa thought it was just an ordinary EITC vessel…"

Elizabeth stiffened at the mention of Barbossa's name.

"He's onboard?" she asked in a deadly whisper. Jack slapped his forehead dramatically, trying to distract her. She didn't buy it.

"Yes he's aboard," Jack finally admitted. Elizabeth's eyes narrowed until she heard a terrified scream from the cabin behind her. A cannonball erupted into the hull somewhere above their heads, and Elizabeth was jolted even further forward as something rocketed into the back of her knees, grasping tightly.

"Mamma!" Elizabeth instantly recognised the terrified cry. She looked down to find James and Isabella clinging to her skirts, as the ship rocked around them. Jack let out a surprised breath, but grasped the moment to get his pistol out and point it threateningly at Elizabeth. Not that he would shoot, but he could use her as leverage to get himself out of this mess. From what he could hear, the battle had turned against them.

"Cheat!" Elizabeth said quietly, as she dropped her sword, either hand on her children's heads.

"Pirate!" Jack shrugged wearily. James and Isabella peered curiously up at the confident pirate captain. Jack peered back.

The boy was a masculine copy of his mother, but the girl looked back at him with a confident arrogance that echoed both Elizabeth and Beckett.

"I know where you got tha' look, little one," he said, smiling winningly. Isabella's gaze didn't waver.

"Jack, please. Leave my children out of this; take me if you wish but leave James and Isabella alone," she begged him, standing defensively in front of them. Something flickered in Jack's cocky eyes.

"James, eh? No doubt named for an ex-fiancé. Good strong name," he chuckled.

"Isabella's second name is Pearl. I thought it appropriate," Elizabeth said stiltedly. Jack looked up at her, surprised.

"Pearl? You mean after….?" He gestured out of the window to the majestic ship, looking distinctly worse for wear. Elizabeth nodded, a slight smile breaking through her coldness. Jack bent down; still keeping the pistol trained on Elizabeth, and leaned towards Isabella. Isabella let go of her mother's skirts, shuffling forward slightly to take Jack's outstretched hand. Elizabeth stiffened but allowed the contact.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Isabella Pearl," Jack said courteously, a gentle smile, one Elizabeth had never seen, on his face. He released Isabella, and she backed away to her mother, something clutched close in her hand.

"Now Lizzie I'll make yer a deal. Come with me as me hostage, and I'll forget I ever saw yer kids," he proposed, suddenly business-like as he straightened, the pistol steady in his grip. Elizabeth paused, unsure.

"Deal," she said finally.

* * *

On deck, Beckett stood in the chaos of the ship as the pirates began retreating, back onto the _Pearl_. They had captured several of them; Beckett personally capturing Barbossa when he had attacked him, and found Beckett was more accomplished with the blade than expected. Now he stood in shackles, that devilish monkey still sitting atop his shoulder. Beckett noted his malevolent gaze with satisfaction until he heard a shout of alarm behind him. What he saw when he turned made his blood run cold.

Elizabeth with Sparrow's sword at her throat, being dragged out of the hatch like some mutated crab, Sparrow holding her from behind. Beckett went to tackle Sparrow, for one moment, completely overcome by his fury.

"Ah, ah ah Milord! Wouldn't want nothin' untoward to 'appen to yer dolly belle, eh?" Sparrow said threateningly, as Groves placed a calming yet restraining hand on his shoulder. Elizabeth watched him warningly form beneath her lashes.

"Cutler, don't you dare do anything stupid!" she snarled, fighting uselessly against Jack's strength.

"Easy on the goods, darlin'," he muttered, as she stood on his foot. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Always so melodramatic! "Now Lord Beckett, I don' see why we can' come to some sorta arrangement,"

"What do you want, Jack?" Beckett sighed through his teeth, not in the mood for games.

" Not in a very chatty mood, are yer? Just lemme get back to me ship, in one piece an' I'll let yer little wifey here go!"

"Fine, just let her go!" Beckett barked, following Jack's progress back with his wife, motioning the marines away from the last rope to the _Pearl_, glad that some of his troops were lying in wait aboard the ship; having captured or killed most of the pirates.

"Gentlemen, milady. This is the day you will always remember as the day you nearly…."Jack began as he felt the wooden railing bump into the back of his knees. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, before she locked onto her husband's sapphire orbs. He searched hers for a moment, as an idea took shape in her mind. A tiny flicker of his lashes, and she took that for assent. Knowing she was risking slicing her own throat open, she gritted her teeth.

"Oh for God's sake!" she snarled, as Jack blabbered on. Lord she'd forgotten how irritating he was! She suddenly lunged forward, bending at the waist, Jack's blade digging into the soft skin of her neck. With a cry from the hot pain spreading across her skin, she straightened suddenly, smashing the back of her skull against Jack's face. Jack released her with an agonised yelp, dropping his cutlass to clutch his nose.

"Me nose!"

"Elizabeth!" Beckett lunged forward and yanked Elizabeth into his arms, dragging her away from Jack. She gasped, feeling scalding hot blood trickle down her throat. She was dimly aware of Beckett's hands on her face, brushing her hair back, tilting her head up so he could look into her eyes. "Are you alright? Good God, the bastard cut you!"

"Cutler, please its fine. Don't make a fuss," Elizabeth admonished him, trying to step out of his protective embrace. Beckett just snatched her closer, seemingly forgetting that they were in public. The marines were busy subduing Jack, clapping him in irons. Groves and Harrington were marching around, checking the wounded and surveying damage.

But Elizabeth was completely unaware of all this; she was trapped in her husband's relieved, emotion-filled eyes. He didn't notice her abstraction; he was too busy examining the wound on her throat. The cold wind wormed its way through Elizabeth's skirts, making her shiver, dizzy as she was from blood loss.

"My lord, what shall we do with the prisoners?" Groves asked, stepping up behind the embracing couple. Beckett ignored him, still peering into Elizabeth's eyes concernedly. Her hand ran over his lapels and down his arms. Alarm flared when she heard his sharp intake of breath; she glanced down to find fresh blood under her fingertips.

"You were wounded….?" She gasped, all thought of propriety flew to the winds and she clung closer to him.

"A mere scratch," he whispered reassuringly, a lopsided arrogant grin on his face.

"My lord?" Groves tried again.

Beckett ignored him, kissing Elizabeth's soft lips tenderly, relishing the fact that they were warm and very much alive beneath his. Elizabeth clung closer, putting all her relief into the embrace.

Jack, meanwhile, watched the exchange between the couple with a nauseated expression.

"Get a room, ye two!" he muttered, looking down at his shackles irritably. And he used to wish Elizabeth would kiss him like that! But the comment had the desired effect. Beckett broke from Elizabeth's lips to glare pointedly at the ragtag group of prisoners, standing surrounded by marines with bayonets.

"My lord? What do you wish done with them?" Groves asked again, standing respectfully at Beckett's shoulder.

"I have no need for them. Shoot them and dump the bodies overboard. We'll tow the _Pearl_ to Bombay," Beckett ordered, his voice harsh and forbidding. Elizabeth shivered and stared at him, aghast. She had forgotten how ruthless he was. As the marines began lining the surviving pirates up, she turned back to Beckett.

"My lord you must take them to Bombay, for fair trial. The law demands it," Elizabeth whispered desperately, her eyes on Jack and Barbossa. For some reason, she couldn't bear to see them die. Yes they had betrayed her, very nearly killed her but they had been her friends once. She couldn't let them die in such a way, after all they had been through. They deserved a chance, just as Jack had given her. But Beckett's reply, couched in sheet ice, made her chances of giving them that even more dismal.

"I am the law,"

"They must go to trial," Elizabeth breathed frantically, clinging to her husband's arm. He looked at her incredulously. "Please, Cutler…." She begged him, turning pleading eyes to his. Beckett searched hers, looking for the reason behind her sudden madness. The pirates betrayed her, for heaven's sake, and she wanted to wait for a trial? Was it some silly duty she thought she must perform, as the Pirate King? Whatever her reasoning, he needed to get to the bottom of it, and stamp it out.

He heard the click of the hammers, as the marines prepared to fire. He held up his hand, to halt them.

"Wait. Take them to the brig. They will face trial in Bombay," he barked, staring into Elizabeth's eyes piercingly.

"But, my lord….." Harrington began.

"I said take them to the brig!" Beckett cut across him, emphasizing the order with a raised eyebrow, his voice soft and lethal. The pirates were hauled below deck without any more objections. Beckett continued to stare into Elizabeth's eyes, his expression disconcertingly shrewd. Elizabeth looked away, feeling strangely intimidated. The thought enraged her, and so she looked her husband in the eye abruptly. But the movement brought on a wave of dizziness, pain searing across her neck. Her shaky knees collapsed, and Beckett stooped to catch her, tucking her head into the hollow of his collarbone. "I will take Lady Beckett to our cabin. Have the _Pearl_ towed and the prisoners under constant guard," he snapped, and swept into the captain's cabin.

* * *

In their cabin, Beckett laid Elizabeth down on a small sofa, tucked into the corner of their quarters. Elizabeth lay in a kind of daze, barely registering her surroundings as Beckett and Harrington fussed around her. Their conversation descended into disjointed mumblings in her ears, as her mind sank into a meditative state, mulling over the problematic quagmire she had landed herself in. She dimly heard Harrington leave; and then footsteps as her husband came to perch beside her on the sofa. Rallying her strength, she sat up abruptly and moved to get off the cushions.

"I should check on the children," she breathed but Beckett simply pushed her back down.

"You are going nowhere," was the implacable reply.

"But…."

"Hush, Elizabeth. Let me clean this cut," he admonished her, tipping her chin back. Elizabeth felt the rasp of linen on her skin, the cool trickle of water on the base of her throat. She relaxed back into the cushions, then made the mistake of looking up. Her husband's eyes pounced, trapping hers in a kind of silent interrogation, wearing down the walls of her resistance, ready when the time came for the verbal interrogation. She finally found her voice.

"You know, the ship's doctor could take care of this. You, no doubt, have Harrington champing at the bit for you to be doing something else," she remarked, indicating his tending of her wound. He sent her an inscrutable look, emotion flashing over those blue, blue eyes.

"I need to do this. Believe me I do right now," he growled, possessiveness screaming in his tense body. Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was so overly protective, he was almost suffocating. But she didn't argue, merely enjoyed the feel of his hand, his fingers through the linen cloth as they caressed the sore, lacerated flesh of her neck.

Beckett surveyed the damage beneath his hands, Elizabeth occasionally wincing and sucking in pained breaths when he hit a tender spot. The cut was shallow, only a couple of layers of skin had been sliced and no veins had been severed. She had been lucky; if he had known for sure what she had been about to do, he would have died of a heart attack. He had very nearly suffocated with worry when he had divined her plan.

In almost slow motion, he had seen the metal of the cutlass bite into Elizabeth's soft flesh, the first drops of blood absorbed by the greedy blade. But she was safe now, as he kept reminding himself, safe with him. As he finished cleaning Elizabeth's neck, winding a gauze bandage around the slim column, his mind turned to weightier matters. Such as why she had begged him to spare the pirates' lives, at least until they made it to Bombay. He couldn't fathom the reason behind the action, only that he didn't understand or like it. She had to release her former life, her former sympathies if they were to ever co-exist with some semblance of peace. Beckett was aware of Elizabeth's hand on his arm, her palm burning into his skin. He turned to her, to insist she explain herself, when she sat up, a determined look in her eye.

"My turn," she whispered, gently removing his coat, trapping his arms in the sleeves. He hissed as the material caught the gash on his arm. Elizabeth eased it down, flinging it onto the back of the sofa. She stood up shakily, pushing him away. "Now take your waistcoat and shirt off so I can clean your wound," she said briskly. Beckett just stared at her, as registering his silence, she turned and hands on hips, glared at him. "Off, now!" she pointed to his bloodstained shirt. When Beckett just sat there, she made an impatient noise and yanked his waistcoat down his arms. With a sigh, he knew precisely what she was doing; he removed it, threw it to join his coat and stood up.

He well as may take advantage of the situation.

He took her hand and led her over to the bed, turning and sitting before he tugged his shirt off. Elizabeth fetched the bowl of warm water waiting in a corner, along with gauze bandages and salve, and stood in-between his open legs.

Beckett breathed in the sultry fragrance emanating from her skin, her silky ringlets brushing against his cheek. The slim column of her neck, like fine marble, marred as it was; was temptingly close, the neckline of her shirt revealing the upper swell of her perfect breast. He had to close his eyes to control his reaction to the sight, to fight the temptation. Her fingers skipped over his skin, like butterfly caresses, gently probing and prodding, eliciting pained hisses from him. She worked quickly, jumping every time his muscles flickered beneath her touch; sending him hard looks every now and then. Finally she finished tying the gauze bandage with a flourish.

"There!" she turned away to dispense with the water and salve pot, still within reach of Beckett. "Now…."

Beckett interrupted her by twining his hands around her waist, pulling her forward into his arms, and fell backwards onto the bed, taking her with him. Elizabeth's gasp was muffled as he rolled atop her, pressing her into the bed.

"Be careful of your arm! You don't want….." she was interrupted as Beckett's lips covered hers in an angry, desperate kiss. Their bodies pressed together, the heat of his bare skin burning through the thin cotton of her shirt and shift. Elizabeth arched her back, responding to the ardency rippling through her husband's body, her mind blissfully blank. She slid her fingers under his dishevelled wig, and flicked it off, running her hands delightedly through the silken curls, revelling in their softness. Beckett groaned and kissed her harder, tongue twining intimately with hers.

After a heated moment, he wrenched away, running his lips down her chin onto her neck, avoiding the gauze material. His hands drifted down, and under her back, pulling her up against him. She moaned under the hard evidence of his desire, seductive heat blossoming at the base of her spine. She traced the line of his biceps, trailing her fingers down onto his pectoral muscle, eagerly tangling in the crisp hair. As he shifted against her, she gasped, biting her lip, eyes closed in pleasure, head tilted back against the mattress. But the lack of his lips on hers meant her mind had cleared a little enough to think, and to glance worriedly at the cabin door.

"What if someone comes in? What if they need you on deck?" she whispered hoarsely, feeling the warmth at the base of her spine almost explode as Beckett moved against her harder, rolling his hips into hers. He didn't answer, only pausing in his exploration of her neck to strip away her waistcoat and shirt, leaving her with only her skirt and shift. She kicked off her boots, as he trailed his lips down onto her collarbone, occasionally licking or biting as he moved further. Elizabeth felt his warm breath on her skin, as he stopped and raised burning, desire-filled eyes to her own.

"No-one will disturb us. Harrington and Groves have their orders; they would not dare to disturb me whilst I tend to my wife," he said with a smug grin. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, really wishing she could wipe it off when he moved suddenly, pinning her arms above her head and looking down into her eyes. "But first you're going to tell me why you begged me to spare those pirate cretins' lives," he demanded in an arrogantly commanding tone. Elizabeth glared and wriggled, trying to sit up but Beckett just lowered his full weight onto her. She had no choice but to submit, unable to move as she was.

Elizabeth searched desperately for a means of escape, for any way out of the dratted situation. But her husband knew when she was lying just as she did him; so there was no point in dissembling. Her husband would accept nothing less than the truth; and wouldn't desist until he got it. She sighed, her breath hitching when the movement pressed against his chest, and glared up at him.

"Very well but you're not going to like it. But first you must promise me not to go on a vendetta against those involved. Promise?" she pleaded, still struggling against the iron shackles of his hands holding her pinned. She knew her husband well enough to know, without conceit, that her tale would enrage him; possibly reigniting his previously relaxed attitude to destroying pirates.

He searched her face, before he nodded once, eyes still boring into hers. Elizabeth took a deep breath, summoning the memories she had long repressed. "When the final battle began to go against us, Jack took the _Pearl_ and ran, along with a few survivors. I was thrown in the brig, whilst the remainder of the Brethren Court decided how to deal with my betrayal,"

Stiltedly, she told him of the Pirate Lords' plot to force her into miscarriage, killing her in the process. But at the last moment; Jack, Gibbs and Ragetti had somehow switched the drug, mimicking the effects of the miscarriage drug but leaving her unharmed. She very nearly died anyway, but after she had recovered Jack had smuggled her off the _Pearl_, giving her money and leaving her on an island in the middle of the Spanish Main. She had bartered passage off and fled to Jamaica, terrified of what would happen if she set foot in her old world; or let anyone from her old life know she was alive. Gibbs had found her eventually, but he would not betray her. "So in the end, I owe those men my life and the lives of James and Isabella," Elizabeth finished, quite pleased with how she had related the story.

She had managed to keep out Barbossa's involvement in the plot to kill her; even now she had no wish to kill him, even though the memories flared, hot and painful across the surface of her mind. She had had enough of death to last her a lifetime. She looked into her husband's eyes, searching for his emotions but they were blank, empty. She frowned worriedly.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally managed. Elizabeth flinched inwardly at the agonized strain behind the words.

"It wasn't your burden to bear. It was mine alone," she whispered. Her statement was met with a tense silence. "What is it?" she whispered. His hands gentled around her wrists; his fingers twined tenderly with hers.

"Those….bastards tried to murder my wife and children, and you ask me 'what is it?'. My God!" he replied brokenly. With that he kissed her, mouth desperate on her own.

Elizabeth floundered beneath the sudden tide of desire, barely able to do more than kiss him back whilst trying to fathom his emotions. His lips suddenly hardened even more, stripping away Elizabeth's reasoning faculties with a burst of pleasure, as his hands released hers to slide beneath her back, pressing her against the rigid evidence of his desire. His hands drifted down, tracing the line of her legs, seeking beneath the material of her skirts, possessively caressing all that was his. That was when it hit Elizabeth; every kiss, every touch, every caress was aggressively possessive; marking her as his, violently reaffirming his ownership. Yet he forgot sometimes; he was hers as well.

She grabbed his face and kissed him back with an embrace so incendiary, both of their minds were wiped clean, left only with the desire to reassert each other's claim. She cupped his nape, pressing him to her as their kiss took on a new urgency, her free hand raking her nails softly down his back, eliciting an agonized groan from his lips. She drank the sound in, giving herself up to their possessive passion.

Suddenly Beckett pulled away with a desperate moan through gritted teeth, his dishevelled waves of burnished hair and burning blue eyes making Elizabeth melt even further into his arms. His swollen lips remained less than an inch from hers, their breaths mixing in a warm exchange. Yearning, aching for him Elizabeth reached up to pull his face back down to hers, when he stopped her; pinning her arms to her sides, and cradling her face in his hands, his body atop hers.

"This changes nothing, Elizabeth. They will still go to trial once we reach Bombay and they will be hanged," he croaked hoarsely, his tone bleak. Elizabeth felt winded, still adrift on their sea of passion, aghast at the coolness behind the fire in his sapphire eyes.

"How can you say that? Whether you like it or not, you owe Jack and the pirates my life, and the lives of our children," she gasped, struggling to form a coherent argument, brain fogged as it was.

"One good deed does not absolve a man, or men, of a lifetime of wickedness," Beckett argued, his tone growing colder. All Elizabeth knew was that she didn't like that tone one bit.

"Let me up," she hissed, glaring at him. He wanted a fight, he would get one. When he had obliged, pulling himself off of her and pacing to the drinks cabinet to pour a brandy, Elizabeth sat up and held the bedpost for support. "If it weren't for Jack Sparrow and his crew, I would be nothing more than shark bait on the ocean floor right now. James and Isabella would not even have been born. What would you have done then?" she asked of him, speaking to his bare back since he refused to look at her. She noticed the slight tensing of his jaw, silhouetted in the sunset, and decided to recklessly shove her spike in further. "Maybe it would have been better for I to have died; so at least James and Isabella need not grow up with such a father….." she trailed off, noticing at last the tensely controlled, predatorial energy coming from her husband in waves as he span to face her.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked aggressively, chin raised at a haughty angle. Elizabeth tried not to stare at his naked torso, licking her dry lips.

"Only that I appeared to have married the wrong man. The children do not deserve a father like you. A man without honour; even Jack Sparrow has a modicum of honour!" she spat, refusing to back down. This was her only chance to save Jack and his crew and so close the door on her past forever. But at what cost?

"I would caution you, madam, from going too far," Beckett said coldly, advancing on his wife. Yet despite the arctic chill of his voice, his eyes shot sparks of molten fury. In response, Elizabeth raised her chin impetuously.

"What are you going to do? Strike me?" she taunted rashly. From the fire in his eyes, she knew she had hurt him enough for him to do so, but he still held his temper in a grip of iron.

"I would never strike a woman, let alone my own wife. But anymore of your imbecility and I will have you confined," he warned her, crossing his arms over his chest domineeringly.

"And I would hate you forever, for such an act. And the moment I was free, I would run from you and never return," she said, reaching for her shirt, tears of disillusionment running down her cheeks. She turned away, about to walk out of the cabin when Beckett grabbed her arm, pulling her back against him. "Unhand me!" Elizabeth all but shouted, fury running freely through her veins.

Beckett held her easily in his arms, taking in her dishevelled appearance. Her lovely eyes glowed with furious determination, her long hair rippling down her back in ruffled splendour. Her skin glowed in the golden candlelight; her body alive with vibrancy. She was so heartbreakingly beautiful when she was enraged, Beckett literally couldn't breathe.

"You are going nowhere, my Elizabeth. You are mine and mine alone; if you ran I would not stop until I had you by my side once more," he growled in her ear, ignoring her impetuous attempts to escape his grasp. "Do not be so foolish," he cautioned her, reining in his lust as she writhed against him.

"I could never love a man without honour," Elizabeth spat. Beckett released her, and she turned to look him challengingly in the eye.

"So we get to the crux of the matter. Does your determination to save those wretches stem from feelings for another? Do I hit the mark?" he inquired sarcastically. Her jaw dropped for one moment, and then she took one step and slapped him hard around the face, her wedding ring leaving a shallow cut in his cheek.

"How dare you! I have never loved that, that, that immoral, unhygienic…." Words failed her, as she noticed him shrugging into his shirt and waistcoat, swiping his coat from the end of the sofa. He replaced his wig, smoothing the hair back and sent her a withering look.

"I believe you have said enough, madam," with that he turned on his heel and made to walk out of the cabin.

* * *

"Where are you going? We are not finished here" she called, striding after him.

The cabin door slammed shut in her face. A moment after she hauled on the latch, the lock snubbed.

She let out a frustrated scream, remembering the look in Beckett's eyes when he had mentioned the possibility of her having feelings for Jack Sparrow. Despair filled her, she could not help her former crewmates, and she could not repair things with her husband. Her life was destroyed, in one afternoon. Tears tracked slowly down her cheeks, as she collapsed to her knees against the unyielding wooden door of the cabin, and found herself whispering brokenly, "I love you, Cutler. I will love you alone, for as long as I breathe,"

* * *

Outside on deck, Beckett heard Elizabeth's heartbroken whisper, his own heart heaving, screaming at him to turn around and go back into the cabin, back into Elizabeth's arms. To comfort her, to tell her he knew she loved him and that he loved her in return. He loved her so much it was affecting his ability to function rationally.

He could not, as one of the highest ranking company agents in the EITC allow a wanted pirate's freedom, yet could he live with his wife's despair? He knew she would never forgive him, maybe even follow through with her threat to leave him, if the pirates went to the gallows. He walked to the railing of the ship, leaning out over the dark waves; the sun having set and moon rise just beginning. The rocking motion of the ship soothed him, helped him leash the beast released by Elizabeth's rash arguments.

The same beast that bade him walk back into that cabin and enforce his decrees on her in such a way that she would not be able to think of disagreeing. But she would never forgive him, for using their sensual bond against her in such a manner. So what could he do? He could not be associated with their escape, yet he couldn't bear to hurt the woman he loved.

Suddenly, Beckett straightened, an idea coursing through his mind. After a few moments hesitation, he turned and walked decisively below deck.

* * *

Some hours later, Elizabeth lay in their bed, shivering beneath the cold sheets in her thin nightgown. The moonlight streamed through glass windows, gilding the tears still streaming down her cheek. She trembled, feeling the cold agony in her limbs. Beckett had not returned to their cabin, and even the visit of her children had not soothed her for long. She had debated roaming the ship until she found him, but dismissed it. A ship at night was not a safe place, injured as she was. It would not be wise for her to venture anywhere near the crew's galley, so late into the night.

So now she lay, wretched and shuddering with barely restrained emotion, trying to drift into sleep, missing the presence of a very warm body in the bed beside her.

She lay with her back to the door, entombed in the cold linen and silk, so lost in her own misery she didn't hear the cabin door open with a slight squeak. She didn't hear the rustle of clothes as they dropped to the floor.

"Elizabeth….." at the whisper, her breath caught painfully in her throat, her silent sobs shuddering to a halt. Hope rose painfully, along with a nebulous desire. Willing her tears away, she turned over when she felt the mattress dip, and his muscled arms appeared on either side of her. Tortured blue eyes met hers, as she took in his appearance. He was bare from the waist up, still wearing his breeches, and his silken brown waves falling across his brow.

The moonlight illuminated the harsh planes, the shadows in his sapphire eyes, the pain inherent within them. He looked so vulnerable, so young in that moment. "Elizabeth, I cannot condone allowing the pirates their freedom, but I am sorry for my harsh words. Forgive me." this last was a painful whisper against her lips, yearning and true regret shining in his eyes for one unguarded moment. She sat up, pushing him away slightly, whipping back the bedcovers. His fingers cupped her chin, tilting her head up.

"I love you so much. Never doubt that," she whispered. His blue, blue eyes flickered before he gently touched his lips to hers; with such devastating tenderness Elizabeth was lost. She threaded her fingers into his hair, pulling herself against him urgently.

He groaned her name, his kiss becoming desperate as though he wanted to devour her, to absorb every inch of her into himself. He switched to torturing her neck with his tongue, biting and sucking the skin ardently. Elizabeth gasped, head arched towards the ceiling until without warning, he tumbled her back onto the bed. She shifted, moaning and breathless beneath him, as he travelled down her body, whispering her name in a silken caress in-between heated open-mouthed kisses over her nightgown. Worshipping the body within it.

His tongue tortured her through the clinging material of her nightgown, as he pushed her towards fulfilment. Desperate to move things along, she threaded her fingers through his hair, and ran her foot up his spine, arching her back invitingly. He paused, the warmth that had begun to build at the base of her spine torturously suspended. Elizabeth watched, breathless with anticipation, as he bent burning stormy blue eyes to hers. His face was like graven stone, the patriarchal planes etched with passion.

"Elizabeth…." With that whisper, he reared over her, crushing her body into the mattress. Their lips rejoined passionately, drinking the other's aroused cries, moving against each other's bodies, eliciting an unbearable friction. The heat at the base of her spine felt ready to explode, frantic, Elizabeth reached between them and pulled her nightgown off and over her head, flopping back among the scattered pillows. After a lengthy, satisfyingly ardent kiss, she tilted her head back against the pillows, breaking the contact between their lips. Beckett gave a small gasp of loss, following her mouth, desperate to recapture her heat. Then he heard her silvery sigh upon the stuffy air.

"Take me. Now,"

Beckett raised himself onto his elbows, taking a moment to flick her hair from her face, before he kissed her fervently, drinking deep. Elizabeth arched, moaning, entreating. The movement pressed her hips against his pelvis, eliciting a curse as he broke from their kiss.

She clung to his back, as he kicked off his breeches, and finally pushed deep into her body. The only thing Elizabeth could see or feel, beyond the starbursts in her mind was her husband's lips on her own, on her neck, drowning in her heat, possessing every last inch of her body. And knew she would never let anything come between them again.

* * *

Hours later, in the twisted silk sheets curled around her body, her limbs haphazardly entwined with her husband's, Elizabeth waited patiently for Beckett's slumber to deepen enough, so she could slip from his arms. It was close to midnight; and the guard shift would occur soon.

Whilst their bodies had cooled from their heated lovemaking; Elizabeth had concocted a plan to free Jack and the others, without involving her husband in any way. He was right; if there was any suspicion that he was involved, he would lose everything, including his life. And that was something Elizabeth could not condone.

At the guard change, she would knock out the guards, swipe the keys, get the pirates back onto their ship, and then cut the tow ropes, letting them disappear into the night mists. All without being seen, of course.

It was risky; especially if she was to be seen or caught, but she was confident she could do it. The trickiest part would be slipping out of bed, and back into it undetected. This would be her only chance, as she knew from experience her husband slept deepest after they had made love. She could only pray he wouldn't awaken before she returned.

Carefully, Elizabeth inched from beneath Beckett's arm, finally with a relieved sigh, slipping from the sheets with a faint rustle. She padded across to her chemise and skirt, silently pulling them over her head, hunting noiselessly for her shirt and waistcoat. Locating them at last, she dragged them over her head and stood straight, the moonlight haloing her figure. She tucked a pistol into her waistcoat, before she slipped into her boots. Throughout this whole process, she had avoided looking at the sleeping form of her husband, afraid her emotions would worm their way through her resolve, and render her weak. After all he hadn't specifically forbidden her from helping Jack, only that _**he **_couldn't have anything to do with it. Shaky reasoning maybe; but it was all Elizabeth had to cling to.

As she tiptoed to the door, she glanced back, watching the prone form of her husband, the deep rise and fall of his chest. Anguish filled her for a moment.

"Forgive me," she breathed, as she snagged her cloak from its place on an armchair, swinging it around her form, swathing herself in black shadow. She ducked out of the door into the night.

* * *

She managed to close the cabin door silently, thanking heaven that the hinges were well oiled, so they swung open and closed easily. In the corridor; she crept along, senses straining for any footstep or breath, or voice. Her nerves stretched unbearably, her hands shaking. She couldn't let her mind even think about what would happen if she was caught. Finally, after flitting from shadow to shadow in the dimly lit corridor, she reached the double doors leading to the main deck. Taking a deep breath, she slipped through it soundlessly.

Once outside, she darted from shadow to shadow, staying away from the lanterns, keeping an eye on the two sentries standing at either end of the ship. Reaching the hatch without incident, she let out a relieved breath and opened the heavy wooden door, the hinges grinding together in the silent night air. Elizabeth winced, yet the sentries didn't seem to have heard. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she slipped into the gap. Below decks, the air was musty and close, drawing sweat from the pores of her forehead. Elizabeth wiped them away contemptuously. She, the Pirate King, was sweating over sneaking a few pirates out in a jailbreak! She had done much riskier deeds in her life.

She slipped past sleeping marines in hammocks, their rifles slung against the walls in ordered rows, past snoring sailors with drool trailing from the corners of their mouths. One snorted in his sleep, stirring slightly, and Elizabeth jumped, just managing to stop her instinctive shriek. One hand over her mouth, she waited in the darkness, until the sailor sank back into slumber, turning over in the hammock. Letting out a sigh of relief, she continued on her way.

Slowly she approached the brig, listening intently for footsteps, readying her pistol. She peeked through the half-open door, and came face to face with the red material of the marine's coat in front of her. Her eyes filled with grim intent, she moved into the room, watching with some amusement at the looks of surprise on Jack and Barbossa's faces when they spotted her.

The marine stood, glaring smugly at his captives, when there was a loud _clonk_ and he collapsed like a felled tree. Elizabeth pulled down her hood, looking Jack squarely in the eye as he came to the bars to gaze at her wide-eyed.

"Elizabeth what are yer doing?" he asked, incredulously. He didn't dare let hope rise in his expression. Elizabeth swiped the keys from the marine's belt and stepped forward.

"Getting you out of here," she said simply, moving towards the cell door.


	10. Chapter 10

My Siren

* * *

Elizabeth led the pirates out of the brig, hovering cautiously in the shadows. The easy part was over, but now they would have to go above deck in order to reach the towropes. She cursed under her breath.

"Wot is it?" Jack asked in her ear. Elizabeth flicked a glare at him over her shoulder.

"Kindly step back, sir." Jack stepped back with an inaudible sigh. "The only way to reach the towropes is going via the main deck. But in all likelihood, we'll be seen by the sentries," she hissed back. Jack shrugged.

"We'll 'ave to risk it," he said, pushing past her to reach the hatch. Silently the pirates slipped out of the hatch, moving stealthily over the wooden boards. Elizabeth paused, the last out of the hatch, and gazed up at the sky. The stars were veiled, the first signs of a fog creeping in.

"Elizabeth!" Jack's whispered call had her snapping out of her reverie, and she hurried forward to join him behind the main mast.

"The towropes are tied to the railing, we can get to them by climbing along those planks there," she said pointing to a narrow ledge created by the hull of the ship. It would be tricky but possible. Jack nodded, and Barbossa and the others broke cover to sneak stealthily past the sentries, still standing at the prow, and throw themselves over the railing, and slowly edge their way to freedom. A moment later Jack and Elizabeth joined them.

Their progress was slow, as they scrabbled for handholds, struggling to keep their balance on the narrow plank of wood. Elizabeth plastered herself to the wall, the night wind plucking at her skirts, threatening to pull her into the ocean below. She shut her eyes, staving off the vertigo, and concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other.

* * *

At last they reached the balcony where the towropes flapped in the wind, and the pirates began climbing back to the _Pearl_. Soon only Elizabeth, Jack and Barbossa remained. Elizabeth could feel his eyes on her, on her wedding ring and she glared back at him.

"You tried to kill me," she stated evenly.

"Aye, I did," Barbossa agreed. "An' it seems it was a good thing ye didn'" and with that he swung his leg over the towrope and began to climb back to his ship. Elizabeth shook her head, her curls flying and she turned to Jack.

"You need to know Jack, that if you're caught after this, I can't help you again. I will not put my marriage at risk again," she said warningly.

"Ye really love the bugger, huh? Sure ye don' want to come with us? Ye are the Pirate King after all. Ye belong on the sea," Jack tried to persuade her but Elizabeth shook her head.

"Not anymore. I belong here, with my family," she said softly, not tempted for a second.

"I give up then. Ye deserve each other, ye do. I hope yer 'appy, 'Lizabeth," Jack replied, throwing his hands up in defeat. As he turned away to the rope, Elizabeth impulsively pulled him back and kissed his cheek.

"Goodbye, Jack Sparrow. Godspeed," she whispered, standing back.

"That's 'Captain' Jack Sparrow to ye, me Lady Beckett. Give me compliments to little Isabella Pearl," he answered jovially, eyes lingering on her one last time. Then he turned away and began to climb back to his beloved _Pearl_. Hopefully the fog would soon cover them and their escape. She waited for one last moment, drinking in the sight of the _Pearl _one last time, before the towrope snapped as someone cut it on the pirates' end and she was gone.

Elizabeth felt a tear fall, but she quickly dashed it away, as she began the slow journey back to the safety of her husband's arms.

* * *

She pulled her back over the railing, cursing her long cloak and skirts, and froze. She thanked her lucky stars that the mast threw her into shadow, as Harrington stood speaking with one of the sentries. She pressed herself back against it, listening hard for a sign of Harrington's departure. She looked up at the moon, and bit her lip. The silver orb was beginning to wane, and she needed to return to her cabin soon. A shiver passed down her spine as she envisioned what would happen if Beckett discovered her missing. But luckily Harrington began to move away, as the fog strengthened.

Cautiously she slipped towards the cabin doors, negotiating her way by memory and touch. The shadow of the mast hid her, the fog shrouded her, and she made the doors with a sigh of relief. Easing the door open, she tiptoed down the corridor in the darkness, the lanterns extinguished, the moon's rays enmeshed in the mist. She finally reached the door to her cabin with a relieved breath, and eased the door open.

Her husband still lay in the same position she had left him in, and Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. She undid her cloak and slipped it onto its hook, before she padded further into the room. She pulled her waistcoat and shirt off, putting the pistol onto the table, before wriggling of her skirt and chemise. Naked she tiptoed back to her side of the bed, and slid beneath the covers. Beckett's arm sleepily twined itself around her waist, pulling her closer, as he slept on. Elizabeth smiled mistily at him, before tucking her head into his shoulder and falling into slumber.

The next morning Elizabeth awoke, cradled in Beckett's arms, to sound of alarmed shouts and cries. She sat up, feeling Beckett do the same beside her.

"What the devil….?" She heard him curse, before he swung his legs out of bed, slipped into his boots and breeches, and shrugged his shirt and coat on. Elizabeth clutched the sheets to her naked body, mind already guessing what the alarm was about.

They had discovered the disappearance of the _Pearl_ and her crew.

The doors to the Charting room burst open, revealing Lieutenant Groves and Harrington in various stages of panic. But whereas Harrington flitted around like an oversized, headless chicken in breeches, Groves was quietly alarmed, looking to his leader for orders.

"My Lord, the _Pearl_ has gone. The crew have escaped and the towropes have been cut!" Harrington told his employer, almost flapping in his panic. Beckett inwardly rolled his eyes. What wouldn't he give to have Mercer back at his side? He wouldn't have been so panicked. But it seemed his little scheme worked, anyway.

Beckett, Harrington and Groves rushed out of the cabin, leaving Elizabeth alone. She smirked, sardonically thinking to herself, _rush all you like_ _boys_. They were long gone. Knowing she probably wouldn't see her husband for the rest of the day, she rose and dressed. Worry rose for a moment, nebulous and choking, but she quashed it determinedly. The past was closed; she had found her true place. Her and Jack were quits. Case closed.

* * *

"Mama!" at the shout, Elizabeth turned a happy smile on her face. Isabella and James, accompanied by their nurse, ran to her, hugging her laughingly.

"My little ones! Are you well this morning?" she asked, gently disengaging them from their stranglehold on her neck. James nodded, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. Isabella's eyes were shining with excitement.

"Did the nice man get away?" she asked tremulously, her lower lip quivering. Elizabeth waved away the nurse, and noticed Isabella's podgy fist was still clutching something close.

"Yes darling he got away," she said, smoothing Isabella's curls. She deposited James on her unmade bed, where he proceeded to stare out of the window contentedly. Isabella had brought her doll, and Elizabeth sat with her as she played with it. Hoping James couldn't hear; she quietly asked Isabella, "Bella? Jack gave you something yesterday, didn't he? A present?"

Isabella nodded, her fist clenching even more.

"Can I see it?" Elizabeth asked gently. Isabella looked unsure. "I won't tell anyone, or take it away from you, sweet,"

Finally Isabella opened her palm, to reveal Jack's little chain of beads and his Piece Of Eight, the coin from the Silk Route. Elizabeth gasped, Jack usually wore it on his bandana, and it seemed a part of him. Now he had given it to Isabella. She traced the coin's edge, thinking back to her first memory of Jack, and their subsequent adventures.

"Mamma?" Isabella's gentle query brought her back to the present, and she focussed on her daughter's blue eyes, so like her father's.

"Isabella, you must not show this to anyone, ever. Not me, not James, not even your father. Do you understand? You must keep this hidden," she waited, breath bated, until Isabella closed her fist and nodded, confusion in her eyes. Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

Later, Elizabeth sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair, awaiting her husband's return. She hadn't seen him all day, but had heard the shouts, the barked orders above as she had played with her children. She could only hope Jack was far away by now; and that no one had seen her. The door to the Charting room opened and closed, and Elizabeth stilled, watching in the mirror as Beckett appeared in the doorway.

"What's happened?" she asked, pretending to be curious. Beckett paced forward, to rest his hands on her shoulders.

"The _Pearl_ has gone, along with its crew. We do not have enough provisions to mount a pursuit, so we are continuing on to Bombay. We'll place all ships on high alert, and mount a search. We will find them, eventually," he told her, fingers gently tracing her collarbone. Elizabeth shuddered, her lids falling. Beckett bent his head to whisper in her ear, lips caressing the whorl as he spoke. "Incidentally, if you ever pull a stunt like that again….."

Elizabeth tensed at first, panic streaking through her, wondering how he knew. But then his tone registered. It was conversational, as though he was merely talking about the weather, were it not for the undercurrents of desire running beneath it. She shivered and relaxed back into his hold, her lids falling.

"You'll do what?" she asked, knowingly provoking him. For an answer he pressed his scalding hot lips to her neck, sweeping her up into his arms. In silence, he laid her on the bed and proceeded to kiss and caress every inch of her body until she was writhing beneath him.

Looming above her, he smirked, watching her passion blank eyes search his.

"You were very lucky that there was only one guard on last night. Else, who knows what might have happened?" he remarked, gently taking her lower lip between his and biting it seductively. Elizabeth, barely able to think through the morass of need he was encompassing her in, raised a suspicious eyebrow. Why had there been only one guard on duty? With such high-risk prisoners, surely it would have been safer to have two or three marines standing guard….

A suspicion blossomed in her mind, as she narrowed her eyes.

"Did you…?" she began to ask, until she felt him press inside her, and gasped, arching.

"What?" Beckett asked innocently, before taking her mouth passionately. Elizabeth groaned, and gave up, gave into the passion he evoked. Knowingly gave herself to him, for all time.

* * *

Later when they lay, sated and replete, Elizabeth kissed the hand covering hers on the pillow and whispered.

"Thank you, my love."

At that silvery whisper, Beckett clutched her closer, nuzzling into the silky waterfall of her hair.


	11. Chapter 11

My Siren

_This is my swansong, guys! The last one of My Siren. I know its cheesy, but its been a great journey. Thanks to your reviews, I feel like my writing has improved in leaps and bounds, not to mention that my erotic writing has got a lot braver! Teehee! Anyway please R&R! Shoutouts at the end!_

_**The Last Disclaimer: I hereby declare that I do not own POTC or the characters created herein by the screenwriters, except Harrington, James and Isabella.**_

* * *

_Four months after the events of Chapter 10…_

_The Governor's House, Bombay_

Elizabeth looked up from the book she had been perusing in the library, hearing the scrunch of horses' hooves on the gravel outside, the summer monsoon rain pattering against the window. Excitement shot through her; he was back!

"My Lady, his lordship's back," Nellie, one of the maids yelled up the stairs. Elizabeth dropped her book, and rushed out of the door with a flurry of silk skirts. She raced down the stairs, cursing the restrictive corset that checked her speed. She sped around the three corners, before she stopped, smoothed the front of her gown. She knew Lord Beckett was due back today, and had dressed accordingly, as a surprise.

The dress was a creation of azure turquoise silk, overlaid by gold lace, moulding to her svelte figure like the water it resembled. The sleeves began at the curve of her shoulder, displaying her creamy skin; they hugged her slim arms, before flaring from her elbows like lilies. Her long, sun-streaked hair was pinned up, except for one sleek ringlet that trailed down her neck and onto her collarbone.

Elizabeth examined herself critically in a mirror, before descending. Her cheeks were lightly flushed, from the stifling Indian air, her eyes alight. Her lips were slightly pouted, slightly red without rouge. And she had another surprise up her sleeve.

* * *

Lord Beckett had been away for three months in Madras, overseeing the improvement of sea defences there. Elizabeth had grudgingly acceded to her husband's wish that she remain behind in Bombay with their twins. The last three months had been hell on earth.

* * *

Elizabeth smoothed the front of her gown one last time, before she turned and glided around the stairs, well aware that the light from the windows would halo her form as she descended. Her breath caught, as she took in her husband, standing in the hall, looking up at her. Lord Beckett's wig was dusted with liquid diamonds from the rainstorm, his greatcoat sprinkled with the same. His previously porcelain skin was tanned, a darker shade juxtaposing against the bone china of his wig. He wore a deep blue coat and waistcoat, black breeches and lacquered boots. The only jarring note was the sword belted at his waist. One look into his sapphire eyes had Elizabeth shivering, although she straightened her spine defiantly and her chin rose haughtily. Harrington and the servants discreetly disappeared, as Elizabeth glided down the stairs.

Beckett caught his breath at the vision gliding towards him. She looked like a water nymph, rising from Greek legend to tempt him. The way her hair shone from the light, reflecting off the silk. Her eyes sparkling like ambers. He stepped forward, stripping off his greatcoat and throwing it onto a chaise.

"My lady Elizabeth," he whispered, one eyebrow cocked a small smile on his thin lips. Elizabeth halted on the bottom step, and inclined her head.

"My lord," there was a small smile on her lips, taunting and enticing. Beckett kept his distance, heightening the tension rising between them, like red hot sheets of metal gliding over their skin.

"How are the children?" he asked, removing his riding gloves, exceedingly slowly. Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to the evocative movement.

"Ahh, they're very well. They're having their afternoon nap at the moment. Isabella tires easily in the heat," she replied, licking her dry lips. She felt like flames were licking her skin through the silk. Her breasts rose and fell shallowly, pressing against the top of her bodice. Beckett grinned at the sight, before he prowled forward and took her hand.

"Very good," he drawled before he kissed her knuckles. He then reversed her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. Elizabeth's pulse raced beneath his lips, she cocked an eyebrow, feigning weary resignation.

"How was your journey, my lord?" she asked, drawing out the last syllables teasingly.

"Dusty, uncomfortable. It does make one yearn all the more for a warm bed and one's family. Makes one appreciate them all the more," Beckett said seductively, stepping closer. Elizabeth raised one eyebrow, enjoying their banter.

"Then come and appreciate it, husband," with that she turned and led the way back up the stairs. Beckett followed, eyes on the single swaying curl in front of him, close enough to touch. He was supremely conscious of barely leashed desire, his and hers. He focussed on the delicate lace flouncing in front of his nose.

"That is a lovely gown," he commented, running one hand down the back as they ascended.

"A surprise for you, husband. One of them, anyway," Elizabeth replied over her shoulder. "You know how I hate wearing corsets,"

"Maybe I can help with that," Beckett said, as they reached their bedroom. He handed her through, and closed the door. "After all, we wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable, now would we?"

* * *

Elizabeth turned and he grabbed her waist, slamming her into the door panels. Their lips fused, and hands desperately began to rediscover.

He ripped her bodice as he tore it from her body, in his urgency.

She popped the buttons from her waistcoat, tearing the cotton of his shirt.

His mouth and hands marked, possessively reclaiming her body for his own.

She left her own mark, as he nearly threw her down on the bed, scratching her nails down his back, scoring the skin, leaving bloody welts.

When they finally joined, aroused cries shivering in the air, Elizabeth clung blindly, content in the knowledge that she was where she belonged.

* * *

Later, when they collapsed sated, atop one another Elizabeth tiredly kissed his shoulder. He lifted from her, and settled her against his side, propped up on one elbow so he could watch her. He tenderly traced the line of her lips, down her chin, stroking her pulse points. Elizabeth shivered and sighed.

"I missed you,"

"I missed you too. Although I have to say this wasn't much of a surprise,"

Elizabeth blinked, confused, then recalled her comment from earlier.

"Arrogant bastard. This isn't your second surprise," she retorted, shifting beneath him. He bent one leg to keep her in place, holding her limbs trapped.

"Now, now language," he admonished her, leaning in for a feverishly evocative kiss. Elizabeth could feel the reins of their desire slipping again, but she needed to get her secret out. She needed to tell him.

"Don't you want your surprise?" she asked. Beckett raised one eyebrow at her. Elizabeth took a deep breath.

"I love you…" she started.

"Well that's no surprise," he whispered, one hand resting on her midriff. Elizabeth frowned, narrowing her eyes at his arrogance but didn't demure. She took his hand, and gently drew it down over her body to her abdomen, pressing it into the skin with her own hand. Beckett looked at her, confused.

"Cutler, I'm pregnant," she said quietly, a glorious smile on her face. Beckett's face blanked with shock, before the stark planes softened, and he looked down into her eyes and smiled. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly, before shifting down in the bed and kissing her belly. Lingering on the gentle swell.

"That is wonderful news, my love," he whispered, before returning to her lips, one hand still caressing her stomach. Elizabeth closed her eyes dreamily and sank into his arms.

* * *

Six months later, Elizabeth was delivered of a baby girl. As she held her little one in her arms, sweaty and exhausted from the labour, she smiled up at her husband, and then at her firstborn children. Beckett's hand stroked her damp curls, as he sat on the bed beside her, one arm around his wife and daughter.

"What shall we call her?" he asked a proud smile on his face. Elizabeth sent him a sly smile. Her little daughter's eyes held a hint of mischief, intelligence and a cunning glint, much like someone she knew. She knew exactly what to call her.

"Jacqueline. We'll call her Jacqueline," she said quietly, her tone brooking no argument. Beckett merely smiled down at his daughter.

Jacqueline Beckett blinked up at her parents, her eyes a deep brown.

"I love you, Elizabeth," Beckett whispered. She turned to him, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

"I love you, Cutler Beckett. And always will," she whispered.

* * *

_**The End**_


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